


Kind of Like a Butthole! : Kinktober 2018

by metrophobic



Category: South Park
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bad Dragon, Biting, Blood and Gore, Body Positivity, Bottom Craig, Bukkake, Buttholes In Gratuitous Detail, Closeted Character, Cock Fighting, Cock Slapping, Corsetry, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Dacryphilia, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Eric Cartman Being Eric Cartman, F/F, F/M, Face Slapping, Facials, Femdom, Flogging, Fluff, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Genderfluid Kenny McCormick, Gun Kink, Halloween Costumes, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Intercrural Sex, Knifeplay, Licking, M/M, Manboob Fucking, Marijuana, Masks, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Name-Calling, Omorashi, Oral Sex, Pegging, Pet Play, Phone Sex, Police Uniforms, Power bottom Kenny, Praise Kink, Problematic Kyman, Punishment, Raw Dogging, Really Shitty Political Humor, Rimming, Sensory Deprivation, Sensuality, Service Top Craig, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Sexual Frustration, Sounding, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Temporary Character Death, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Tongue Bath, Top Tweek Tweak, Triad relationship, Uniform Kink, Urethral Play, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, Watersports, Wax Play, Weight Gain, Xenophilia, Youth Pastor Craig Tucker, feederism, gay married, hot dogging, imp tweek, implied aftercare, not gay, public making out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-07-20 14:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 85,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metrophobic/pseuds/metrophobic
Summary: Sick, depraved, immoral smut featuring our favourite garbage mountain town for every day in October. At least, we're hoping. Trick or treat, motherfuckers.(Tags and pairings will be updated as they're posted.)





	1. Day 01 - Deep-Throating & Masks (Kenny/Craig)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm excited to be taking this on. I don't plan on allowing my other works to suffer as a result; if anything this will hopefully help me get the creative juices flowing again, since I've been severely blocked on my more serious fics. :( Some of these might have some kind of plot to them, some may not.
> 
> I have a loose idea of what I'm going to do for each day, but if there's something you'd like to see, let me know! I just might use it instead. You can find the Kinktober list for 2018 [here.](https://kinktober2018.tumblr.com/post/171107184776/kinktober-2018) Some of the days are going to be combinations, because why force myself to pick just one? I may be digging through the South Park Kink Meme for inspiration, too.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny has a fun surprise for Craig when he gets home! And it's not just his dick this time!
> 
>  
> 
> ( **Applicable Tags:** Masks, Deepthroating, Oral Sex, Really Shitty Political Humor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, let's start this event off with something horrible. I'm sure everyone will be coming back for more.
> 
> (Many thanks to PBJellie for the awful conversation that spawned this!)

“Happy Halloween!”

For a moment, Craig didn’t know what to say. He was vaguely aware of his backpack as it slid off his shoulder and dropped to the floor with a bang. (Those university textbooks were growing bigger and heavier by the semester, it seemed. He might as well have carried bricks.) His feet were frozen to the floor and he could’ve sworn he felt his eyes glaze over when the creature seated atop his bed leaned back, and spread its legs.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment,” Craig finally said.

The dull, lifeless eye slots set in their weathered, tanned face with its haphazard blond toupee—seated atop his boyfriend’s butt-fucking naked body—silently stared back.

“Now,” Craig reiterated.

“This is a _uge_ dick,” came the muffled response. “It is very,” and it was there Kenny paused, a finger held in the air for emphasis, “bigly.” Kenny dropped a hand to his dick then and wrapped his fingers around it. He already had a chub going. Craig’s tongue darted over his lips and he tried to pretend he wasn’t already salivating at the sight like a fucking trained dog.

“And I have seen many penises,” Kenny continued. “ _Many_ penises. Believe me.”

“Why are you doing this.”

“Because it’s Halloween, dipshit.”

“Halloween isn’t for thirty more days,” Craig stated carefully. Kenny was still jacking his dick. The flushed tip poked out from the end of his fist and Craig already wanted to get down on his knees. It wasn’t just a throwaway joke. Kenny’s cock really _was_ big, the biggest Craig had ever taken in his life. He literally wanted to get down and blow him right then and there, in spite of the horror that floated over Kenny's body in place of his head. This was so fucking surreal. Craig was pretty sure he was about to have an existential crisis.

“We have a trade deficit,” said Kenny. “Imagine that your dick is China, and my dick is the United States.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Why would you insult me by calling me stupid, when I would _never_ tell you that you have a small dick?”

“I don’t have a small dick!” Craig shouted. Kenny cracked up.

“Holy shit.”

“I hate you,” said Craig.

“I try so hard to be your friend,” Kenny replied, with a mournful note that underlaid his tone. “and maybe someday that will happen.”

“You actually expect me to take your dick right now,” Craig remarked. “This is actually a thing that is happening.”

“Yep.” Kenny leaned back a little, let his hard prick flop enticingly back against his navel while he cupped his swollen pink balls in hand. Craig let his gaze travel over Kenny’s smooth, shaven thighs and the perfectly-trimmed golden strip above his dick. He always did try to frame himself like he was a goddamn pornstar. Craig allowed his gaze to linger on the dusky mark over one of Kenny’s sharp hipbones. His mouth had left it there two days ago. “I’m going to impose a tariff,” Kenny continued. “They’re the greatest. Trade wars are good, and easy to win.”

“If I put your dick in my mouth,” asked Craig, “will you stop talking?”

“Now there’s a pretty picture,” Kenny replied, as Craig sank down between his thighs. “You dropping to your knees.” Craig exhaled slowly, because Kenny knew he was going to suck him off even if he _didn’t_ shut up, and Craig knew he wouldn't. He grabbed a firm hold of Kenny’s wrist and pried his hand away; took up the task himself, in hand, and promptly sucked the head of Kenny’s dick into his mouth. He had to remind himself Kenny wasn’t _blind_ behind the mask. He could see him quite clearly through that wrinkled, latex face. He could see Craig’s head as it bowed between his legs, with lids fluttered shut and a wet mouth greedily worked at him.

Craig just couldn’t see _him._ He couldn’t even look up, because that hideous visage was already etched firmly into his brain, and despite how he thought he knew Kenny’s expressions by heart at this point, the awful caricature that covered them would remain permanently furrowed and unmoving. Dull, sunken eyes and thick yellow brows. Rough, leathery skin in a disgusting shade of orange-tan and thick pink stank-lips.

Yes, Craig was _definitely_ having an existential crisis.

He tried not to think about it as he swiped his tongue against the head of Kenny’s cock; flicked the tip of it into the sticky warm slit and tasted the precum that had welled up there. Kenny grunted, faintly muffled by the mask, and hitched his pelvis forward. “I would never attack you based on your blowjob skills,” he remarked. “And believe me, there’s a lot of material there.”

Anger bubbled up in Craig’s belly, slow and simmering. He had only _just_ gotten started. What the fuck did Kenny expect of him so soon? Craig wasn’t the type to get insecure during sex, not really, yet Kenny was _so fucking good_ at getting under his skin. He loved to dismantle Craig’s confidence, to leave him in a mad scramble to fit the pieces back together. It was practically a fucking hobby of his. And for Kenny, it was always a win-win, because if Craig didn’t rise to his stupid little challenges then he got to be all smug for one-upping him. If Craig _did_ play into it, then Kenny got the pleasure he wanted _and_ another goddamn ego stroke. _You always win, too,_ Kenny remarked, in the one instance Craig pointed this out to him.

Craig pushed his hand down to the hilt of him and gripped tight. A single, strangling stroke sent more fluids smearing over his tongue. He heard Kenny’s breath quicken above him, and Craig was sure Kenny was just _waiting_ for him to look up. That was not going to happen. “American leaders have understood,” Kenny cooed down to him, “that diplomacy and engagement,” and his voice got breathier as Craig took more of him in, “ _diplomacy and engagement_ is preferable to conflict and hostility.”

But this wasn’t diplomacy, Craig told himself, silently. Kenny was lifting his hips in eager thrusts and his fingers twisted themselves into Craig’s hair. Craig’s face immediately flared up hot and he was certain Kenny could feel the heat from his cheeks where they pressed against his thighs. Yet he didn’t struggle, or pull back, even as drool leaked from his spread lips and ran down the sides of Kenny’s hard dick. In fact, he dropped his hand from where it held him tight and cupped Kenny’s balls in hand instead, crudely pushed his thumb up behind them and dragged it firmly along the seam there. Kenny hissed between his teeth and Craig felt a flare of pleasant, affectionate triumph amongst the well of anger he’d become.

“Yeah, you like that, huh,” Kenny said. He’d long since given up on maintaining his character’s ridiculous methods of pronunciation in favour of sloppily fucking up into Craig’s mouth, breath coming in quick hitches. He ran his hands through Craig’s fine black hair and wove his fingertips up against his scalp. “My fingers _are_ long and beautiful, as, heh, as _it has been documented,_ are other parts of my body. Yeah?” It was a half-truth, because Kenny’s hands were bony and rough and calloused but they felt good when they gripped Craig’s ass or the back of his neck anyway; _other parts,_ well. They both knew the answer to that, too, as Craig unabashedly choked around Kenny’s dick before he held his breath and forced the whole thing right down his fucking throat. He was rewarded with a rough gasp that practically scraped its way through Kenny’s larynx on its way out, like it couldn’t be helped.

Good.

Kenny spread his legs wider. He was panting like the same dog Craig had imagined himself to be when he first laid eyes on that goddamn thick erection of his, and little fragments of stupid things escaped him, but he kept doing that thing where he’d laugh helplessly like it was futile to try and form anything coherent. And it was, and he did give up, at least for the time being. Hot breaths flared up inside that ugly mask of his and Craig half-expected him to reach up in frustration to tug the damn thing off, but he didn’t. Kenny was unpredictable when it came to the things he decided to half-ass and what really mattered, and this floated somewhere in between, because he couldn’t spout off any more dumb catchphrases but he still wanted to play this stupid game of President and apprentice, or whatever, anyway. Craig pulled his mouth off with a wet slap and heaved in a few lungfuls of air, watched Kenny squirm with need beneath him. He forgot for a few seconds Kenny could still see him, and he decided to wait.

“Hey,” said Kenny. “ _Hey._ ” He swallowed thickly, and Craig could tell by the sound of it that his mouth had gone dry. “I’m not—I’m not a schmuck.” A shaky laugh escaped him. “Even if the world goes to Hell in a handbasket—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Craig grumbled. “You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.”

“I could just fucking fire you,” Kenny shot back. “When you’re a star, you can do _anything._ ” Craig very carefully but very pointedly gave his balls a little twist, and a keening sound fell from Kenny’s throat, trapped inside the mask. Craig imagined he was probably slick with perspiration _and_ condensation from his own breaths. It was probably like a swamp in there.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Kenny’s dick was still hard and throbbing between his legs. Craig could feel it pulse against his knuckles.

“You’re such—” and Kenny broke into little raspy notes of twitching, obnoxious laughter, the kind he indulged in whenever he was being a fucking piece of shit. “Such a— ehehehe, _shit._ ”

“What,” Craig prompted, and narrowed his eyes.

“You’re a _nasty woman,_ ” Kenny suddenly blurted out, like the very act in and of itself made him victorious. “Such a nasty woman!”

Craig smacked him. Right in the ribs. He didn’t strike very hard, clearly, because Kenny only laughed harder. The second time Craig drew back his fist, though, Kenny was ready to catch it, and for a horrified moment Craig thought he was going to try to kiss him with that disgusting stank mouth, but instead he just pushed his leg forward and grazed Craig’s belly with his bare toes. Craig’s stomach immediately drew in with a quick flash of breath.

He bent down again, and swallowed him fucking whole.

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” Kenny gasped out. “Oh, _yeah!_ ” For the second time, it didn’t seem like he was acting anymore. Craig bobbed his head and let Kenny’s length dig into his throat in quick sharp bursts; the room was filled with some pretty fucking _nasty_ sounds indeed, even if Craig wasn’t going to let him live for that comment. He gagged and snorted whenever the head of Kenny’s dick hit the back of his throat and drool ran down his chin, and he grunted with every effort to breathe, messily fucked his own mouth on that awful cock like it would quench every thirst in him that ever existed. Kenny, who once again couldn’t find the words to express himself—let alone keep up with his stupid game—was clearly having the time of his life anyway, as his pelvis rolled up and he tightly gripped the nape of Craig’s neck.

“ _Yeah,_ ” he groaned out. It seemed he could find the words after all, but they weren’t pulled from the airwaves or even from his own ass, they were just praise and no longer pretend. “Yeah, you take that dick, right in that nasty mouth, y’like that don’cha?”

“Uh-huh,” Craig managed to gurgle out.

“That’s right,” Kenny chuckled breathlessly. “That’s my cock whore. Think your mouth’s better than mine but all you do is talk shit and suck dick. You’re a fuckin’ mess, messy like your mouth, gonna pump it full’a my jizz. Oh _fuck_ that’s good.”

Craig couldn’t say anything back because Kenny was right. His mouth was also too full of cock, and so was his throat: Kenny often told him he could deep-throat like a fucking champion and Craig wasn’t about to prove him wrong. Not anymore. He made some kind of pathetic whimper around him and slurped, sucked noisily, eased back with his tongue on the head again to try and take a breath but they were both moving too fast. Kenny couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

“ _Shit,_ ” Kenny gasped out. “Sh-shit, I gotta— we’re building a great—!”

 _Don’t,_ Craig tried to snarl, dangerously, but all that came out was an indignant growl that went ignored.

“We’re building— a _great_ climax!” Kenny’s broken, breathless voice spilled out above him. “A great, great climax! _And Peru’s gonna pay for it!_ ” It was the last thing he said before he bucked up with a groan, and shot his fucking load right down Craig’s throat. His hands held him at the temples and forced him to take it, but they both knew Craig was strong enough to fight him off anyway. Craig sputtered and felt like jizz was going to leak out of his nose, but he gulped down the bitter, chalky stuff as it gushed into him in thick spurts, then promptly yanked his head away.

Both of them had to catch their breath. Kenny’s chest was shining with sweat and heaving. With that hideous _thing_ that encompassed his skull, he looked really fucking stupid. Craig felt filthier than he had in a long time. He didn’t know if it was the good way or not.

It was time for a shower. Definitely time for a shower. He turned away and tugged his shirt off his head.

No sooner had he done that, Kenny’s hand immediately shot between Craig’s thighs. Craig actually jumped in surprise when he felt rough fingers scrabble and poke around the region of his taint and butthole, before they closed around the area and gave a firm _tug._

Behind the mask, he knew Kenny was smirking.


	2. Day 02 - Begging & Watersports (Tweek/Craig)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig did something naughty without asking permission first, and so he has to deal with the consequences.
> 
>  
> 
> ( **Applicable Tags:** Oral Sex, Punishment, Sex Toys, Watersports, Omorashi, Face Slapping, Spanking, Forced Orgasm, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Dirty Talk, Name-Calling, Master/Pet, Verbal Humiliation, BDSM, Facials, Implied Aftercare)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a day behind now because this took so long, but hopefully it's worth it. I've had this sitting in my Gdocs for months. I was just gonna shelf it, but why deprive myself of a good thing? So I was filled with determination to finish the damn thing for Kinktober, and here's 8.8k words of Tweek making Craig his bitch and peeing on him. (Plus bonus omorashi.)

It was easy to let Craig know he was in trouble.

All things considered, he was a fairly obedient boy. He kept a clean house. He gave Tweek special attention when he came home at night. He would always have dinner ready. And his validation came in the in the form of praise—he loved praise, _loved_ it, _existed_ for it, Tweek knew this to be true—through texts and short phone calls throughout the day.

_Roast tonight, Sir?_

_Yes, good boy._

_Do you want lavender in your bath?_

_I’d like that. You’re a very good boy._

_Thank you._

It was a shame he decided _today_ to give into those urges Tweek often instilled in him. Normally he’d ask permission first, or if Tweek was feeling particularly saucy and it was only midday, he’d send him messages: _Such a good boy, you can play with your cock if you want_ or _Does my boy need something?_ It wasn’t every day. But Tweek knew that Craig knew: he was in for a world of trouble when he texted Tweek his confession earlier.

_Sir, I did something bad._

_What?_

_I just finished coming._

Tweek let the silence say everything at once. He never responded to that last text. It had been an hour before he was supposed to go home.

He walked through the front door with no prior notice. Their place was spotless, as usual, as it should have been. The rustle of paper bags from the kitchen signaled to him Craig had returned from the grocery store moments ago. Tweek cleared his throat, and the noises from the kitchen immediately ceased.

Then came the heavy sounds of footfalls, and Craig entered the foyer, absolutely nothing written across his face. Not even regret. Not even _shame._ “Hey,” he coolly greeted him. One of Tweek’s eyebrows twitched upward.

“Just ‘hey’?”

Craig shrugged, and he actually dared to look Tweek in the eye when he did it. He dared to look him right in the eye, after what he pulled earlier. “Just got done putting the groceries away,” he pointed out, as casually as if they were discussing the weather, and he’d done nothing wrong at all. “I was about to get started on dinner.”

Tweek folded his arms across his chest, and fixed his partner with a steely glare that he _knew_ cut through the calm in Craig’s eyes even if he pretended not to notice. He was good at pretending, wasn’t he? Tweek huffed out a little breath, almost as if he were laughing, silent and derisive. “We’re, _nnh._ Oh, we’re not having dinner now.”

“We’re not?”

“No,” came Tweek’s answer. “You wanna know what I think?”

Craig’s tongue darted out over his lips, though his gaze remained unwavering. “What?”

“I think you should take your clothes off.”

As if it were merely a suggestion, not a thinly-veiled order, Craig lifted his eyebrows. “Right now?”

“Did you really just question me?” Tweek strode forward a couple of paces. “I said, are you fucking questioning me?”

Craig might have had a few inches on him, but Tweek could be terrifying when he was angry, he admitted once—and Tweek knew when he was imposing. He knew he had the upper hand, and he knew Craig had been waiting for him. This was confirmed by the way his little pet immediately lowered his gaze, voice having swiftly dissolved into something meek and obedient. “No,” he murmured. “No, sir.”

“Good. I’ll wait.” He did just that, with his arms crossed, and reveled in the way Craig faltered under his burning stare. The first to go was Craig’s t-shirt, and then he undid his belt to push those tight jeans of his down to his ankles. His boxers followed suit and then he kicked the whole lot of clothing aside. He no longer held the courage to look into Tweek’s face, eyes trained upon the floor at his feet instead. Tweek’s gaze flickered appreciatively over his naked body. “Good. _Nnh,_ very good,” he praised him, and reached out to tenderly caress Craig’s handsome jaw. “Good boy. You like being a good boy for me?”

Craig briefly closed his eyes and canted his head into the touch. “Yes, sir.”

“Get on all fours.”

Craig obediently lowered himself first to his knees, and then onto his hands. Tweek lazily dragged a hand over his back, almost as if he were petting him, and silently relished in the sigh it brought out of him. But then he slipped his fingers through Craig’s hair and tugged, firm and forceful, until he was looking up into his owner’s face.

“You weren’t a very good boy today.” Tweek’s voice was heavier than it had been, accusatory, even as he knew he was clearly stating _facts_ because Craig had already confessed his transgression earlier that day. “Were you?”

Craig bit his lip. “Sir, I—”

“ _Ah-ah!_ No?! Are you questioning me again?” Tweek gave the hair in his grip a good solid yank, and the corner of his lip quirked when it made his little pet gasp out loud.

“No, sir, I’m sorry, sir.” The words poured from him quickly. Tweek shook him, just a little, his voice a low growl.

“You were bad today,” he told him. “Don’t _even_ try to deny it!”

“You’re right, sir.” Craig’s arms quaked, just a little.

“If I’m _right,_ then— then say it, _nn._ ” Tweek’s grip tightened. “ _Say_ it.”

“I was bad, sir,” Craig quietly answered.

“And why were you bad today?” At that, Craig shamefully lowered his gaze. Tweek pressed on, and gave him a little shake by the hair, to remind him. “Why were you bad? Look at me. —Tell me what you did, tell me why you’re in trouble!”

“I…” Craig finally met his eyes again. “I looked at things, without permission, sir.”

“You _looked_ at things?” Tweek’s lips pressed together in a frown, briefly, and then he hissed out, “what _kind_ of things?”

“Porn, sir.” Craig’s throat pulsed as he swallowed hard. “I looked at porn, sir.”

“And what else did you do? Huh?” Tweek leaned in closer, until their faces were mere inches apart. “What else did you do?”

“I touched myself, sir.”

“You _touched_ yourself! _Nn—_ you looked at someone else’s cock, and you touched yourself.” As if the accusation was too much for him to bear, Craig fervently shook his head. “No? What do you _mean,_ no?”

“I… I looked at someone else, sir, but I was pretending… I thought about you, sir.” Craig’s voice wavered again, and he quickly cleared his throat, not daring to draw his gaze away from his owner’s. “I imagined it was you.”

“How do I know you’re not just lying to me, slut? I can’t— _ngh_ —I can’t _see_ into your head!” Tweek let go of his tenacious hold on Craig’s scalp, and instead carded his fingers through his hair, gently rubbed in contrast to the sharp words he was feeding him. Craig blinked a few times, and his lids fluttered like he suddenly had to fight to keep them open. “So, you’re gonna look me in the eye, and I know you’re telling me the truth?”

Craig’s eyes immediately snapped open; it was clear he wanted the truth between them, and he would do _anything_ to make sure his Sir believed in him. “Yes, sir. I don’t want anyone else, sir. I only thought of you.”

“And what were you doing when you were _supposedly_ thinking of me, huh? What were you _doing?_ ”

“I…” Craig was growing bashful again. “I fucked myself, sir.”

“Oh yeah?” Tweek stroked his fingertips down the back of Craig’s neck and up again, as if to reward him for being forthcoming with his crimes, even though he was to be punished for committing them in the first place. “With what?”

“My fingers,” murmured Craig. “I had my fingers inside me, sir.”

“How many? _Nn,_ how many, and where _were_ they?”

“Three, sir. In my ass.”

“Did you come? Hm?” Craig hesitated at the question, and Tweek leaned in even closer, _real_ close, until their noses brushed together. “ _Hnn?_ ” he goaded, a low expectant hum.

“Yes, sir.” Perhaps because of their proximity—because he thought he could _get away_ with it—Craig’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.

Tweek lightly slapped his boy’s cheek, just enough for a bit of sting. “Speak up,” he snapped. “I can’t hear you! Speak up so I can fucking hear you!” He reached out and pinched one of Craig’s bared nipples.

“Yes, sir! _Ah—!_ ”

“You came, and did I say you could? _Did I?_ ” Tweek twisted the poor little bud of flesh he held between his fingers, satisfied in the way Craig squirmed.

“No, sir!”

“Did you even _ask?_ ” He wasn’t going to let go.

“No, sir!”

“Did you even _think_ about asking?”

“I— yes, sir! Yes, sir!” Craig’s lovely face was scrunched up into a grimace, his eyes tightly squeezed shut. A low whimper fell from his throat.

“So you thought about it, and you decided _not_ to. You thought you could get away with it!” Tweek’s fingers were locked hard around the tender flesh in their grip, vice-like and pinching, and he could feel how hot it had gotten. He gave the nerves a fierce little tug and a groan fell from his pet. “You _knew_ what you were doing was _bad,_ and you did it _anyway!_ ” Tweek finally released him, and Craig gasped in relief, though he made no move to rub at his sore nipple to try and soothe it.

He knew better than to try.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“ _Sorry’s_ not gonna fucking cut it!” Tweek grabbed him by the hair again, pushed it back from his forehead in broad swipes of his hand and dug his fingers in, clenched it tight. “You _know_ it’s not gonna cut it!”

“No, sir. Because I’m a dirty slut, sir.”

“That’s right! _Good boy._ ” But it wasn’t praise this time. The words were abrasive, not sweet; they echoed the contemptuous sneer that curled Tweek’s lips and hardened his gaze. Something seemed to flicker in Craig’s eyes anyway, and it tugged at his heartstrings, but Tweek knew he couldn’t go all soft on him. He’d done something bad, after all, and he needed to be punished for it, he needed to learn his lesson. “I didn’t even have to prompt you this time,” he continued. “That’s because you _are_ a dirty slut and you know it! You’re a filthy animal, can’t even wait a few _goddamn_ hours, _nnn,_ I could’ve been fucking you by now!”

“Please, sir— _mmgh!_ ” The sharp slap across Craig’s face cut him off.

“No! You don’t get to beg for anything, not yet!” The volume of Tweek’s voice had kicked up even further. “You haven’t even earned the _right,_ you little piece of shit!”

“You’re right, sir. I’m a disgusting piece of shit. I’m— _ah!_ ” Craig let out a sharp gasp when Tweek slapped him again, on the other side, because when it came to his owner he always turned the other cheek, and Tweek was always thrilled to indulge in it. “I’m a filthy dog,” he went right on. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.”

“Turn around,” Tweek snapped. “Stop whining, and… and show me your ass.” Craig did as he was commanded; he dutifully turned around without another word so his ass was fully in Tweek’s view. Yet it wasn’t enough—not by a long shot. “No, not like that! _Show_ me!” He heard the shaky intake of breath and Tweek’s cock twitched in his pants when Craig lowered his head until his burning face was pressed to the floor, thighs parted to present himself. Tweek’s tongue darted over his bottom lip. He was open, and exposed, and it was so, _so_ fucking delicious. “Yeah, that’s good! Keep your face on the ground!”

He licked one of his fingers, and promptly stuck it up Craig’s ass.

“ _Ungh!_ ”

“Oh, stop! You— _haah,_ you fit three fingers up here, and you’re trying to tell me that _one’s_ a problem for you now?” Once his fingertip nudged past the taut barrier of his hole, it slid neatly into him, Craig’s muscles slick and _hot_ and pulling him right inside. “Look, you’re still all wet!” Tweek taunted him. “All nice and slick! Guess you were hoping I’d come home and immediately put my dick in you, huh?”

“Yes, sir. _Oh_ —” Craig let out a low moan when another finger squirmed its way into him.

“Maybe you won’t get my dick tonight! _Maybe_ you have to earn it! Maybe I wanna put my hand up here instead! Think you’d like that? Want me to fucking fist you?” Tweek fucked him open with his fingers as he spoke, just the two of them, but he didn’t go slow once he was drawn up inside; he tormented Craig’s asshole with quick little jerks of his wrist. “Yeah, you’d fucking love it, ‘cause you’re a nasty little slut! _Nnh,_ you love it when I open up your ass.” Craig moaned something incomprehensible in a pleading tone and shuddered. “Oh, what’s the matter, does that scare you? You’re _scared_ of me now, tramp?”

“A— a little, sir. I’ll do anything you want of me, sir.”

“I bet you will!” Tweek’s fingertips brushed against the swollen nerve inside him, feather-light, and he watched as Craig bit his lip and arched his back beautifully. He really was quite lovely, this sweet little toy of his, and Tweek stroked a hand over his spine. Almost lovingly, but it was in stark contrast to the way he cruelly thrust his fingers inside him, edging up _close_ but not close enough, not anymore. “But right now, it’s not just about what I _want,_ but what you _deserve!_ ” Tweek brought up his free hand and laid a sharp smack across Craig’s backside. He jumped a little in surprise. “Tell me what you are again!”

“ _Ah,_ sir—” Craig’s thighs trembled. It was clear he was forcing himself back from rocking his hips back against his owner’s hand, though he couldn’t stop entirely, hips giving little twitches of their own accord. Tweek slapped him on the ass again.

“No!” he scolded. “Don’t even start! _Tell_ me!”

“I’m a nasty slut, sir. I’m a filthy dog. A disgusting animal.” Even when Tweek was stirring him up and making him sweat Craig had the uncanny ability to control his tone—well, _most_ of the time—it carried on the same dull politeness Tweek expected of him. He knew it was because Craig forced himself to stay calm, calm and _trained,_ and that excited Tweek all the more.

“That’s right,” he hissed out. “And what do filthy dogs get?” When Craig hesitated, he struck him a third time, and snarled through his teeth: “ _Well?_ What do _filthy dogs_ get?”

“ _Nnn!_ They…” Craig shamefully closed his eyes. “They get pissed on, sir.”

“That’s right!” Tweek paused in his movements for a few seconds, because his arm was starting to get tired, but he didn’t want to _stop_ —no, not just yet. He rolled his wrist in a neat circle before rocking it forward again. “That’s right, they get _pissed_ on! And you’re a filthy, mangy dog, so what am I gonna do?”

“You’ll piss on me, sir.”

“You’re so disgusting, you _like_ that idea! Look at you! You got a fucking hard-on for this shit?” He did. Tweek reached between his spread thighs and groped at him, felt the firmness of his dick and the way it hung helplessly between his legs. Craig let out a sigh, and Tweek slid his fingers out of him. “You like the idea?” he taunted as he rose to his feet. “You love it when I fucking use you, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ask for it, then!” demanded Tweek. “Ask for it, I wanna hear you _beg,_ you’re not even worthy of being my toilet! You’re not even _worthy,_ that’s how much I can’t even stand to look at you right now!”

“Please, sir,” Craig answered him meekly. “Please piss on me.”

“I don’t think I can _hear_ you, slut!”

“Please piss on me, sir!” Craig’s voice became more raw, more plaintive. “Please, sir. I want you to relieve yourself. I want you to feel better.”

“ _Hah!_ Okay.” Tweek let his eyes roam appreciatively over Craig’s prone form as he stood back and undid his pants. He dragged the zipper down slowly through its teeth so Craig could really hear it, feel the anticipatory weight of what was about to take place. Tweek reached in and tugged his dick out. He'd been sure to drink a lot of water between the time Craig told him what he did, and until the end of the day, so there’d be plenty just for him. It wasn’t easy at all to piss while he was hard and so he had to take a couple of breaths to calm himself, because the mere thought of it was enough to send flickers of heat through his groin. The clench in Tweek’s belly and the mounting discomfort of a full bladder was enough to soften him up again. He held it over Craig’s back from where he stood behind him.

“Okay,” he said again. “It’s gonna go all over you, you’re gonna be a mess—!” He gave the first little push, and it dribbled out of him at first, dripped down onto the small of Craig’s back. Tweek heard him breathe, and then it flowed from him in a steady stream; first he aimed it forward so the water he made splashed up between Craig's shoulders and leaked down his spine. A soft, relieved sigh escaped him, and he heard the quiet moan from where Craig’s face was pushed up against the floor, like it had just slipped out. Like he hadn't meant to be heard, like he was meant to loathe this. Tweek relaxed entirely and that was when it really came gushing out of him: warm clear piss ran down Craig's back like a stream and pooled in the small of it, trickled down his sides in little droplets that dotted the pristine floor.

“I’m gonna get it in your ass!” By the time he said it, Craig was shaking where he lay, and Tweek pulled himself back, aimed right for the little divot of his tailbone. “I’m gonna get it all over your ass, man,” he reiterated, as he pissed out the remainder there. It ran down the crack of Craig’s ass and over his balls and dripped down to the floor. “Feel that?” Tweek taunted him. “Feel it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Much better. _Ah,_ much better!” Tweek let out an exaggerated groan of relief at the finality of emptying himself all over this pathetic wastrel beneath him, and tucked himself back into his pants again. “Jesus fucking _Christ,_ ” he remarked while he zipped up. “You’re a mess! Aren’t you? You’re a nasty little creature, all covered in piss! Just the way you like it, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Shut your eyes,” ordered Tweek. “Don’t even move! I’ll be right back.” He strode toward their bedroom with a brisk, “ _don’t_ look,” and smiled in satisfaction when Craig squeezed his eyes shut. He really was good at doing what he was told. Most of the time. Tweek yanked open the little cabinet of his nightstand and came up with what he was looking for: a thick steel plug. It gleamed in the light like some kind of fierce weapon. As far as Craig was concerned, it might as well have been one.

“Now,” Tweek told him when he walked back into the foyer, and took up his place behind Craig’s back. “Hold still.” Craig was shivering again, likely a result of the piss cooling on his skin. There was something both disgusting and impossibly erotic about smelling himself on his pet’s body, mingled with the musk of Craig’s desperate arousal and the raw natural scent of his skin. Tweek always got a kick out of doing it, it was like a brand, a marking of his own property, a reminder. That enticed him even more than the degradation Craig experienced, but he lived to see him embarrassed, too. To see him quietly break apart and come undone beneath his hands, to relish in the shame cut through that cool indifference of his, the yearning ache that always met his eyes. Tweek looked over his bowed shoulder. Craig’s eyes were still closed, bottom lip worried between his teeth, and a flush lit his cheeks. He was already incredibly handsome, but the vulnerability Tweek would inevitably carve into his features, that was what he loved best of all. He reached out and stroked a thumb over Craig’s cheekbone. His reddened lip popped back out from between his teeth, and then he tilted his head slightly, lips still parted, into Tweek’s hand.

Craig’s eyes remained shut. He was cute. Not cute enough to not be in trouble, but still fucking cute all the same. Tweek drew his hand back and slapped one of his ass-cheeks. He thought about making Craig suck on the toy so it would have a _little_ more give, but decided he’d enjoy taking up the task himself, make Craig think about his mouth wrapped around something that _wasn’t_ him, something he _wouldn’t_ get. Tweek pushed it into his own mouth and slurped noisily. “ _Mmm._ ” He saw Craig’s toes curl, his brow furrow ever-so-slightly first in concentration and then, once realization took hold, a pained sort of want. Tweek heard the tiny whimper that escaped him. “ _Mmmm,_ ” he purred, again, dramatically for both of their benefit; the thick metal plug slid free of his mouth with a slick _pop._

“Hold _very_ still,” he ordered, “and relax your ass for me.” As soon as the words left him he was already nudging the cool tip up against Craig’s asshole. Instinctively, Craig clenched up. Tweek gave him another sharp spank and his pet immediately hitched his legs apart, like a good boy, and Tweek felt the give of his muscles, too, and the toy twisted its way inside. Craig groaned from his place on the floor. “Oh, shut up!” Tweek told him, even as he rubbed his fingers around the tight ring to make the process less uncomfortable. “I know you can take it! There’s still lube up your ass, for Christ’s sake!” Heat washed over Tweek’s body all the way down as he watched the thickness of it spread Craig’s hole open, and Craig hissed through his teeth as he fought to take it, worked to pull the whole thing inside of himself. Tweek’s stomach gave a triumphant, aroused little flutter when the whole thing finally popped inside him and those muscles closed up tight. The flared base was like a sparkling silver dollar up between Craig’s ass-cheeks and Tweek poked at it admiringly, smirked to himself when Craig gasped out loud.

“ _There,_ ” Tweek cooed. “That looks nice. Very nice! And you’re gonna hold that in until I say, got it?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll keep it in, sir.”

Tweek couldn’t resist picking on him further. “Your tight little ass should keep it in place,” he remarked, “but then again, _nnn._ You _were_ loosened up a lot today, so you might have to clench! You’re not gonna let it fall out of that loose, slutty asshole, right?”

“No, sir,” Craig replied quietly, and Tweek knew even without looking into his face it must have been burning. “I’m holding it in.”

“Good! Now, come here!” Craig started to hoist himself up, and Tweek sharply snapped his fingers. “On your hands and knees! Yes, that’s a good boy.” Craig had turned himself around, and with his head still bowed toward the floor, crawled toward his master. If he had a tail, it surely would have been held between his legs.

“I’m a good boy, sir?”

“You are when you do what I say!” Tweek stroked his fingers through his hair anyway, and then gave a little tug, to guide him to rise up on his knees. “But you— you still have to redeem yourself! Jesus, you reek of piss, man!”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“You have an erection!” Tweek leaned down and mockingly poked at it. Craig _was_ hard, his flushed cock bobbing obscenely beneath him whenever he moved. Tweek almost thought about going to get a ring to put over it, but decided this was enough. Besides, it was even more enticing to watch Craig’s dick shrink and swell in his various states of arousal, shame and fear. “Jesus fucking Christ, you _liked_ that! You _liked_ getting pissed on! Didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re so fucking hard,” Tweek taunted him, with a little laugh. “You already came earlier without my permission, and now you’re all hard and horny again! You really _are_ a nasty fucking beast!”

“I am, sir.” Craig hung his head. “I’m a filthy animal who doesn’t deserve you.”

Tweek rubbed his thumb over the tip, before he formed a little loop with his fingers and dragged it down Craig’s aching shaft. “You want my cock?”

“Yes, sir, _ah—_ yes, I do, please sir.”

“Take it out, then. Get it out for me!” Tweek didn’t have to tell him twice. Craig leaned up and nuzzled his groin, then undid the button on his trousers. The simple gesture of his fingers brushing against Tweek’s stomach was starkly intimate and it was like fucking electricity. He loved doling out Craig’s pleasure and pain on his own, but the simplest of touches always did things to him. The knowledge that his lover in this space would do _anything_ just to drink in the feeling of his skin gave him immeasurable power. Craig was careful in pulling down the zipper but then he plunged his hands inside, pushed his fingers first into the opening of Tweek’s underwear and then just seized the waistband and tugged it down. And then Tweek’s cock was out, and Craig looked like he would die if he didn’t get to touch it soon. A little smile crinkled the corner of Tweek’s mouth. “Want it that bad, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“ _Touch_ it!” Tweek demanded. Craig trailed his fingers down the length of it and then wrapped his palm around it, dragged it upward in a slow stroke. There was no trepidation in his grip at all and knowing he wanted this just made Tweek grow harder in his hand. “Don’t— _nnnn_ don’t put it in your mouth yet,” he admonished when Craig touched his lips to the head of his cock. “Just kiss it, just kiss it nice and slow. All over!” Craig did as he was told; he pressed the first kiss there, right on the tip, and then traced his mouth down to the hilt, leaving tender little kisses along the way. “That’s— _nngh,_ that’s it,” Tweek encouraged him, in a harsh little whisper. “Show me how much you like it. _Mmm…_ ”

In spite of his eagerness to bring him out, Craig took his time, like he really wanted to savour what he was given permission to do, all of his hunger contained in each brush of his lips. When he got to the bottom he carefully lifted it up and pushed his mouth up against the place just above his owner’s balls, let his tongue dart out in a teasingly wet kiss. Tweek shivered and subconsciously pushed his fingers through his own hair, tugged at it with a low whine. “ _Shit,_ ” he gasped out, when Craig dragged his tongue all the way to the top again, and left another path of kisses on his way back down. Tweek halted him with a hand to the back of his neck. “Sit back!” he demanded. “Lick them.”

Craig did as he was told without protest; he cupped Tweek’s full balls in his hand and slathered his tongue around one of them. He sank back on his haunches like he was told and immediately gave a start, the gasp of surprise warm against Tweek’s groin. “ _Ah!_ Sir…”

“What?” Tweek huffed impatiently. “What is it _now?_ ” He knew exactly what it was, of course, but he wanted to hear Craig say it.

“I feel it, sir, it’s… _ah,_ sir, please…”

“Don’t move on it,” Tweek growled at him, even as his cock gave a little throb at the thought of that smooth, glossy plug stimulating Craig on the inside, torturing him with an uncomfortable pleasure he wasn’t yet allowed to succumb to. Instead, Tweek lifted his hips. “You wanna suck my cock now, pet?”

“Yes, sir—” Craig sucked in a quick breath and shifted his weight. “Please sir,” he begged, without even being prompted, because he clearly knew it was wanted of him. “I want your beautiful cock in my mouth. I want to suck you, sir. Pleasure you.”

“ _Hnnn._ ” Tweek made a noise like he was really thinking about it. “Not _yet!_ ” He gave a short laugh, almost like a giggle, and then he sat down on the floor to give him better access to fondle Craig’s hard dick. “Yeah, _nnn_ I bet you like that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t get to come until I say!” Tweek told him, though it was really just a reminder, because Craig knew full well it went without saying. But he enjoyed rubbing his nose in it anyway. Craig bit his lip and let his eyes fall closed when Tweek played around with his dick: he lightly tickled his balls before dragging his thumb all the way up and smearing precum all over the head. It was subtle, but Craig had started to move, lightly rolling his pelvis into Tweek’s touch. “Stop that!” Tweek snapped, abruptly stopped, and slapped him sharply on the thigh. “I said _no,_ you hear me? You fucking hear me?”

“Yes, yes sir!” To his credit, Craig did stop, but obediently sitting back just pressed him down on the toy again, and Tweek watched with satisfaction as his fingers curled into his palms and squeezed with the effort of holding himself back.

“Turn around,” Tweek barked at him, “and get back on all fours _right now!_ ” Craig did precisely what he was told, and it was clear he was trying to hide it, but his legs were quivering anyway. Tweek laid a hard smack on his backside, the base of the toy cool against the center of his palm. Craig actually yelped, or something close to it, a little sharp noise that escaped him as he tensed up. “Oh, you’re lucky you’re just getting my hand this time!” Tweek told him. The strikes came in steady succession, and in actuality Tweek was not hitting him all that hard, but he kept slapping Craig in the same place, and that was the idea. Each blow that struck him jostled the toy inside his ass, made it rub up against his hole and the tender nerves inside him. Craig was tense beneath him, his eyes shut and his teeth grit. Tweek was already pulling him apart, and the thought made him ache; he reached down and briefly rubbed a hand over his own cock, smeared the precum around with a light moan.

“ _Really_ fucking lucky, man!” he continued, his strikes steady and unrelenting even as the tone of his voice escalated. “You thought you could pull a fast one on me earlier? Think I wouldn’t fucking find _out,_  even if you didn't tell me? I always find out, don’t I? _Don’t I?_ Fucking _say it!_ ”

“You…” Craig cleared his throat. “You always find out, sir.”

“ _What_ do I always find out?!”

“When I’ve been bad, sir. When I’ve lied to you, sir.”

“And you _did_ lie to me, didn’t you?” Tweek drew his hand back and smacked him harder this time, really made him feel it, and Craig let out another of those beautiful little cries. “ _Nngh!_ You _did_ lie to me!”

“Yes, sir,” Craig gasped out. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry.” His voice wavered, as if it were on the verge of cracking, or perhaps even dissolving entirely.

“What, you’re gonna fucking cry now?” snarled Tweek. “How do you think _I_ feel, you piece of shit?” He stopped spanking him and grabbed the base of the toy in his fingers instead, twisted it and watched hungrily as Craig’s ass and thighs tightened up and trembled, and he reached down with his other hand to cruelly tug and squeeze his balls. “Gonna fucking _cry?_ ”

“No, sir!” Craig ground out. His voice was strained. “I’m not. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Instead of trying with your empty fucking apologies,” Tweek scoffed at him, relentlessly churning the toy inside of his poor pathetic pet over and over, “you should be _thanking_ me! _Nnn,_ aren’t you thankful I’m still here? That I’m even _giving_ you attention like this?! You were barely worthy of even getting _pissed_ on and you’re not even really worthy of _this,_ either!”

“You’re right, sir,” gasped out Craig. “I’m very thankful, _mmmh,_ sir, I’m— _ah,_ so thankful. I’m so thankful for you. I…” he faltered then, and bowed his head.

“You _what?_ ”

“I love you, sir.”

“You fucking better!” Tweek stopped fiddling with the toy in circles and instead tugged on the base of it, pulled it back enough that the thick bulbous plug threatened to open Craig’s ass and slide right out, only to push it back inside again. Craig pressed his face to the floor and openly moaned, a delicious sound that sent shivers down Tweek’s spine and left him with the sudden urge to pull him close into a tight feverish embrace, but he swallowed it down and instead reached down to feel Craig’s cock. It was hot and hard and leaking in his hand and he rubbed it slowly, felt Craig’s hips twitch into it.

“I— I do, sir. With every inch of my soul. I’m yours, I’m— I’m _yours—_ ”

“Stop your pathetic groveling!” Tweek laughed, cruelly. “You’re just _saying_ that, so I’ll let you come!” He struck Craig on the ass again, like he had before, and segued into a series of rapid-fire little smacks against the base of the toy. Craig was squirming beneath him, little choked whimpers falling from his throat, he clearly made the attempt to cut them off but couldn’t quite hold himself back.

“No, sir,” he gasped out, his voice tight. “No, I— fuck— oh, fuck, sir, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Tweek reached over with his other hand and raked his blunt nails down Craig’s back, watched with predatory delight as it shivered and arched beneath his touch. “Can’t _what,_ huh? Control yourself? You’re a big boy! You can fucking control yourself!”

“I—” His legs were shaking. “I don’t think I can, sir.”

“You _can’t?_ ” Tweek grabbed one of Craig’s ass-cheeks and tugged it back. It provided him with even more leverage to manipulate the toy inside him: he slapped and twisted and mercilessly dug it into his prostate. Craig wasn’t even trying to hold back his movements anymore; he rocked his hips back into it, helpless to stop any of this. Tweek wasn’t going to stop him this time, either. “ _Hah!_ You really are a filthy animal, aren’t you? Just a nasty, rutting little dog!”

“I am, sir.” Craig’s voice was husky and broken from exertion. “I— I am. I’m a filthy dog and I can’t control myself.”

“Why can’t you? What’s your fucking problem?”

“It just,” and Craig huffed out a shaky breath, culminating in a soft whine, “it feels too good, sir, it— oh, _fuck._ Sir, please. Please, I-I can’t. Please just let me.”

“No!” It was punctuated by a particularly harsh smack to Craig’s ass, and he groaned in response. “Why the fuck should I let you? _I_ didn’t get to come yet! _I_ didn’t! So, why should you, huh? Why the fuck should _you?_ ” Tweek took his own cock in hand and nudged it up against Craig’s thigh, let him _feel_ how hard he’d gotten, how hot and eager _he_ was and yet he still maintained some semblance of control. Unlike his pet. Unlike this dog beneath him. Craig shuddered and when Tweek struck him a second time, all of the muscles in his lower body seemed to tense up at once. “Yeah,” Tweek goaded him on. “Yeah, you _better_ clench that fucking ass! I told you not to let it fall out!”

“I’ll make you come,” Craig pleaded. “I’ll— I’ll make you come, sir. I’ll do anything, just— just please, please sir.”

“Feels that good?”

“Yes. Yes, it does, it— thank you. Thank you, sir. It’s incredible.”

Tweek snorted at that. What a pathetic ass-kisser. “And _why_ does it feel good?”

Craig whimpered again, low in his throat, before answering, “because it’s— it’s inside me. It’s in my ass, and I can’t—”

“No, keep going!” Tweek let the smirk on his face colour the tone of his voice. “I wanna hear you describe it to me!”

“Ugh,” Craig grunted, almost as if annoyed, and at that, Tweek let out a little snarl and struck him again, so hard his body actually jerked forward from the impact. “ _Mmmh!_ It’s filling me. I’m sorry, sir. It’s _filling_ me, sir. It’s filling me and every time, every time you hit me, it—” Tweek chuckled and swatted him again, which drew out another feverish moan. “Oh god,” he cried. “I _can’t—_ ”

“So it’s _my_ fault now? It’s _my_ fault you can’t control yourself?”

“No, sir, I wasn’t trying to— _a-ahh, god,_ oh fuck— _mmmgh…_ ”

“And this is exactly what you wanted! Isn’t it! You wanted this, huh? You wanted me to fuck with you, wanted this right from the very beginning, because you’re a nasty fucking _dog!_ ”

Craig looked like he was trying to shake his head, trying to escape, even though he couldn’t, he couldn’t escape _any_ of this and Tweek had him trapped where he wanted him. “Sir,” he gasped out, “sir, I— I’m about to c— I’m gonna come, oh fuck, I can’t, I’m so close and— fuck, I _can’t!_ ” Tweek watched, fascinated, as Craig’s cock gave a very noticeable twitch and spilled over, in time with the way Tweek was spanking him; each swat of his hand sent a little pulse of clear, syrupy fluid dripping to the ground until he reached down and fondled Craig's full, plump balls, and that was all he needed to empty them. All of it splattered onto the floor beneath Craig’s trembling body and when he’d finally gotten it all out of him, Tweek sat back on the floor with a little tutting noise and crossed his arms.

“Unbelievable.” He shook his head. “Un- _fucking-_ believable.” Craig had all but collapsed forward on his front, though his ass was still in the air, and his lips parted like he was going to try and say something, maybe another pathetic apology but Tweek was not going to have any of it. “ _No!_ ” he snapped. “You don’t have the right to talk right now! No fucking right at all! _Gah!_ ” He scoffed and reached for the base of the toy. “Just push it out,” he said. “Push it out, there’s no fucking reason to keep it there now!” Craig squeezed his eyes shut, and Tweek tugged on the toy, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Did you fucking hear me?” He gave it a twist, and Craig winced, clearly over-sensitized from the pleasurable torture he’d just sustained. “I said to push it out! Push it out of your ass!” He watched as Craig bit his lip, but then he obediently bore down. Tweek was halfway through carefully sliding it out of his abused hole when he caught sight of the little spurt of water that spontaneously gushed from the end of Craig’s softening cock. “What the Hell is this?” Craig actually looked embarrassed then, and pushed his hands over his face. “Jesus, man,” Tweek tutted again, and the toy slid free of him. “Oh my fucking god. You’re _so_ pathetic, oh _Jesus!_ Did you even piss at all today? Huh?” He poked one of Craig’s ass-cheeks. “You can _speak_ now! I wanna hear this shit!”

“No, sir.”

“Why didn’t you go today?” At the question, Craig simply pressed his legs together, and brought one of his hands down to bite the side of his finger. His face was flushed, all over, even down his throat, and Tweek imagined it mostly must have been because of what had just transpired but he could tell it was making his pet bashful, too. “Yeah, I see you! Now that you _got off,_ you gotta do something else now!”

“I— I didn’t ask for permission, sir.”

“ _What?_ ” Tweek practically shrieked that out. “Are you _fucking_ shitting me? So, so you’ll _jack off_ without asking first, but you won’t go use the fucking toilet? Your priorities are _seriously_ out of whack, man!” He irritably ran a hand back through his hair. “So, what do you need _now?_ You better ask now. Say it!”

“I…” Craig exhaled slowly. “I need to piss, sir.”

“ _Yeah,_ no shit you do! How badly?”

“Really bad. Really bad, sir.”

Tweek laughed at him. “You already got some on the floor, you sick animal! Are you gonna make a big mess now?”

“No, sir.” Craig pressed his hands to the floor in an effort to haul himself up, but Tweek stopped him with a hand on his back. Craig pressed one of his hands to his burning face again, fingers spread over his eyes. “Sir, I’ll make it. Just please. Please let me go.”

“Go _where?_ ”

“To the bathroom.” Craig’s voice was starting to get a little more hurried. “I really need to piss, sir, please.”

“ _I_ didn’t use the bathroom!” Tweek pointed out, and patted him on the back like the stickiness there would remind him. “You think you’re better than me, huh? You think you’re fucking better than me, you piece of shit?”

“No, sir!”

“Get over here and suck my dick,” Tweek ordered instead, with a roll of his eyes. Immediately Craig was scrambling over to him, to press his hands to Tweek’s skin. “I didn’t even get off yet, and you’re making all these demands of me! Unbelievable! Just, un- _fucking-_ believable!”

“Thank you, sir,” Craig panted. “God, thank you.” His bladder issues were momentarily forgotten, it seemed, in favour of pushing his lips over the head of Tweek’s cock and taking it in on his tongue.

“Yeah, that’s good,” sighed Tweek, and he reached down to pet his hair in encouragement despite the harsh words he'd delivered a few seconds ago, gently combed it back through his fingers. “So good, take it all in. You’re such a good boy, see, _nnnn_ this’s what makes you a _good_ boy. And I like it when you’re a good boy.” Craig moaned his appreciation, and took him in, all the way like his owner told him, engulfed him in the precious soft warmth of his mouth and _fuck,_ was it ever good. It had been worth the wait. It always was. Tweek dragged his gaze over Craig’s body; he was so dirty, sticky with piss and the remnants of come, and sweat, and he could smell all of it, and it was making his heart pound. He noted with amusement that Craig had his legs clamped together again. “You holding it in? You better hold it in!”

At that, Craig pulled back again, and drew in a harsh breath. “Sir, please,” he quietly begged.

“I didn’t say you could stop!” Tweek pushed on the back of Craig’s head, to urge him forward again. “I’m gonna fuck your throat if you do that again!”

Craig obediently took him in again, but that lasted all of ten seconds before he pulled himself off. “Sir,” he hissed quietly, nothing but urgency in his voice. Tweek scoffed at him.

“Nope, _nope!_ What’d I fuckin’ tell you?”

“That you’d fuck my throat,” Craig said hurriedly. “Sir, I can’t hold it in any longer. It’s gonna come out.”

“It better not!” was all Tweek had to say, and he took himself up in hand, pushed the tip against Craig’s wet mouth. “Open up,” he commanded, and to Craig’s credit, he did so, in spite of the clear discomfort and fear writ over his face. Tweek rolled his hips, and held onto Craig by the nape of his neck, forced him to take it. Craig’s eyes fluttered shut, and Tweek heard the telltale sound of water splashing onto the floor. “Look what you’re doing!” he yelped, and could’ve sworn he saw Craig’s face grow pinker as he shuddered and shifted his weight, tensed up to try and force it back. “Jesus, man! Well, you better not stop now! Might as well get it over with!”

Craig was breathing hard, mostly through his nose, and Tweek was no longer looking at his face but down between his legs, down at the floor. Craig’s body slackened and it started as a careful stream at first, trickling down from his cock to the floor, but then it flowed from him. His piss gushed out onto the wooden floor and spread out beneath him, shamefully beneath his knees, and down his thigh, and he slumped when he did it, just a little. Like a man defeated. “Jesus, man,” Tweek taunted him. “You’re so pathetic, a little fucking dog, just pissing everywhere you feel like! That’s what you are, right? You’re a goddamn dog!” Craig started to pull his mouth off to answer him, and Tweek rapidly shook his head, pressed him up close again. “ _No!_ No, keep sucking. _Nnnh…_ ” A pleased sigh escaped him, and he lowered his gaze again, watched as Craig’s nasty little act of urinating all over his nice clean floor finally ebbed to a close. “Christ,” Tweek said, as he watched the last of it drip from the end of Craig’s dick. “It’s— it’s all over your legs! And the _floor,_ oh Jesus Christ man, _look_ at this fucking mess! You’re a disgrace! Pull back your mouth.”

Craig did precisely that, and he seemed to droop entirely when Tweek snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor, which drew his gaze there. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly.

“ _Look_ at it,” was what Tweek had to say. “Keep your eyes on it! You’re such a pathetic, _stupid_ little whore! Look what you did!” As he spoke, he took himself up in hand, and stroked his own cock. His breath came out all choppy and he hoped being deprived of the sight, in favour of the filth he’d laid out before him, would make Craig feel even more guilty. “I should grind your fuckin’ face in it, but I have a better use for it! You know what that is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is it?” Tweek shuddered and slowed the weight of his touches; he wanted to drag this out a little more, Craig’s hunger for him was a fucking addiction.

“For your come, sir.”

“That’s right!” Tweek reached down to press a hot hand against Craig’s jaw, forced him to look up again, at the sight of his owner’s leaking dick right in his face. A little rush went through him when he caught sight of the very noticeable change in Craig’s expression, shifting from burning shame into raw _want._ “I’m gonna, _ngh,_ gonna come all over your fucking face. _Haah—_ and you’re gonna love it, aren’t you? I’m gonna come on your pathetic face.”

“Yes, sir,” Craig answered, and he looked him right in the eye when he did.

“Beg for it, c’mon, beg for my come!”

“Sir, please come on my face. Please, just use me. Just fucking _use_ me.”

“Yeah,” Tweek gasped out, “oh _fuck_ I’m so close baby, I’m so close, say it again.”

“Use me.” Craig ran his hand up Tweek’s madly jerking wrist to lovingly caress his arm. “God, use me. I’m yours. I’m _yours._ ”

“Oh, _god,_ oh _fuck—_ ” Though it was tempting to just close his eyes and _bask_ in the lovely relief his release finally brought him, Tweek forced them to stay open, forced himself to _watch._ And it was immeasurably worth it, the way Craig’s eyes fell closed and how he gave a little, delighted whine when the first string of come hit his cheek, and then Tweek didn’t stop until it was painted over his nose, lips, his chin. Craig’s tongue darted out to taste what had fallen close to his mouth, and Tweek drew back with a final sigh. He still felt a bit tingly down below, but the day's tension, all of it had been steeped out of him. He reached out to run his thumb across Craig's chin and pressed it to the seam of his mouth, felt his tongue brush up against it before Craig opened his eyes and caught the pad of it in a careful nip. Tweek ran his fingers through his pet's hair.

“Clean up this mess.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tweek got to his feet, pulled his pants back up, picked up the discarded buttplug and headed straight for the bathroom.

He showered up quickly, only enough to cleanse the sweat and the day’s grit from his skin. After everything that had transpired between them, Tweek didn’t want to stay separated from his partner for long. Craig had insisted before that he enjoyed cleaning up after them, though, and it _was_ a good place for Tweek to collect his thoughts for a moment and bring himself down. He wanted to be cleansed and clear-headed so he could do what he wanted most at the scene’s end: focus on taking care of his lover. Tweek knew it was silly of him, for he was only a couple of rooms away, but he already missed him, immensely. Once he finished washing up he haphazardly swabbed a towel over himself—they would be returning to the shower anyway, together, so there was no need to fully dry off—and padded back out to the foyer on bare feet.

Craig was sitting in the middle of the floor; the mess was already gone, even his clothes, and there was the faint aroma of citrusy soap in the air. He seemed to perk up when he caught sight of Tweek.

“Is it cleaned up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Tweek said, and smiled. “ _Very_ good boy! Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Craig followed after him, though he remained silent as they crossed through the bedroom and back to the attached bathroom, and even when they stepped into the enclosure together. Tweek adjusted the temperature and stepped aside once the spray hissed to life again, allowed the warmth to spread across Craig’s back as he wrapped his arms around him and pressed a kiss to his neck.

“I love you.” He tried to sound tender, but it came out as a rasping whisper instead. Craig visibly relaxed against him anyway. It was their little signal their playtime had reached its inevitable conclusion. Tweek reached for the soap and smoothed his wet hands over Craig’s back, allowed the shower to wash away the evidence of his own filth on his lover’s skin. There was always that deep-set, hidden fear it would stain him forever, ruin him and scar him, but Craig was always resilient, even if some of that resiliency was wound up among his own vulnerabilities. His eyes were shut and he let it all run down the drain before finally holding Tweek close to him and pressing his face into his hair.

“I’m sick, aren’t I,” he mumbled. There was an edge of dry humour to the words, but Tweek knew it was a farce.

“No!” He squeezed him tight. “You’re not, not in the bad way, I’m sick too if that’s the case!” Craig didn’t say anything to that, just nuzzled his ear. “You’re beautiful,” Tweek promised him. “You’re _so_ beautiful. So beautiful, when you let me give you the things you want.” It wasn’t the first time he had to reassure him. But he would gladly do it, each and every time, if that was what Craig needed. His hands slid all the way down to cup Craig’s ass, and he dug his fingers in, kneaded at the muscles there.

Craig didn’t seem inclined to say anything else. That was all right. He tended to come down from his space a lot quieter. Sometimes it seemed like he didn’t even want to leave, still eager to please even when they were supposed to be on equal ground. Tweek indulged him, on occasion, but when Craig reached for the soap and rubbed it across Tweek’s chest, Tweek took him by the hand. “Nuh-uh!” he scolded. “I already washed up, I’m taking care of you now!” He pulled Craig’s hand up to his face so he could kiss the backs of his fingers.

Craig made a little grumbling noise in the back of his throat, but he obeyed, let Tweek soothe all the worries from his skin and guide him back to where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really rough and I'll probably end up editing a bunch of times, ugh.
> 
> The next one will be considerably shorter, so hopefully tonight I'll break even. ;)


	3. Day 03 - Sensory Deprivation (Craig/Tweek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig decides to employ a new method of helping Tweek ground himself.
> 
>  
> 
> ( **Applicable Tags:** Service Top Craig, Gay Married, Sensory Deprivation, Fluff, Sensuality)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much just pure fluff.

“You’ll be safe,” he’d been promised. “I’ll be right there with you.” And he was—under no circumstances could his touch leave Tweek’s skin, even if it was something as simple as lying beside him, shoulders pressed together. Or fingertips rested against the inside of his wrist, against his pulse, like right now.

He knew it was unnecessary, but Tweek closed his eyes anyway. He did not want the sensation of blindness to close in on him.

It was actually Kenny’s fault. Sort of. He’d given it to them on their fifth wedding anniversary. “Who says the honeymoon’s gotta be dead?” he’d remarked with a grin. Tweek was apprehensive as he watched Craig untie the stupid baby-pink ribbon and rip the sparkly gift wrap apart. When he pried the top off and Tweek tried to peer inside, Craig stopped him with a hand pressed to his shoulder.

“Just give us the receipt,” he’d said, in a voice tight with anger. Kenny just laughed at him and bailed shortly after with his good-natured well wishes for another five years, so he could get them something even _more_ special for their 10th anniversary! It took a short but heated spat for Tweek to finally convince Craig to let him at least _see_ what the fuck he was getting his panties in a knot over.

“I mean, _maybe_ we could give a shot,” Tweek suggested as he sat upon their bed, the disembodied leather head perched in his lap. He couldn’t stop running his hands over it, and he toyed with the little locks, unsure if they were there to _truly_ entrap the wearer inside or just to hang for decoration. All he could think about was the idea of being unseeing, unhearing, only the rush of blood in his ears and himself, his own thoughts, his own head. Was that what could happen? Would he be trapped inside his own head, left to be devoured by every intrusive thought that ever existed?

No. He couldn’t bear the thought of what could happen to him. It made him break out into a cold sweat, but his heart pounded when he thought of how it might look as the _taker,_ instead, and when Craig had returned to the room he jumped to his feet and thrust it into his hands. “ _You_ wear it!” he demanded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. Craig, who was a fussy bitch and far softer beneath the surface than anyone who wasn’t Tweek could possibly realize, also tended to do pretty much anything Tweek asked of him. He was nervous, _clearly_ nervous, which just made Tweek love him all the more for trying.

And then he fucked him, and Craig was louder than Tweek could ever remember, and he came like a fucking geyser. The gimp mask was there to stay.

Two weeks after that, Craig had the misfortune of returning home at the precise moment Tweek had just hung up on his father. It was not the first time Tweek had done so and it wasn’t even the first time Craig had found him like that, either, a complete fucking basket case curled up on their shared bed with his hands over his ears, struggling to breathe and desperately trying to grab hold of the last fading star of rationality: _it’s not a heart attack. It’s just his stupid brain. It’s just his father again. This happens_ **_every time._ ** Even Craig’s touch couldn’t soothe him, not after the things he’d heard, and he couldn’t possibly explain their dynamic to him in a way Craig could understand because _he_ didn’t live through 25 years of conditioning, of questioning his sanity, of trying to fit the pieces of a malformed reality together in a way that could allow him to even properly _exist,_ let alone _function_ as a fucking adult. (And Tweek felt he accomplished the latter, at least the bare minimum, but then his father would ring and it was like taking a sledgehammer to his psyche all over again.)

“I have an idea,” Craig said, quietly, like he was speaking to a frightened rabbit—Jesus, Tweek _hated_ when he did that, but he couldn’t exactly _blame_ him, either, he was fucking insufferable and probably just needed to be shut up and that was the best way, the only way, why did Craig ever marry him, anyway?—and Tweek pulled his face away from the pillow he’d been biting and screaming and wailing tearlessly into for the last ten minutes. Even when he swallowed it down, he couldn’t stop his heart from trying to burst out of his ribcage, or his veins to tear themselves from his skin. Craig had gotten out the mask, that fucking _gimp_ mask, and Tweek’s first instinctive thought was he wanted to fucking _slap_ him.

“I’m not in the _mood,_ asshole!”

“Not like that,” Craig assured him. “Remember when you used to meditate?”

Tweek buried his face in his hands. He hadn’t done that in two years. It just didn’t _work_ anymore, or maybe that was what he convinced himself. “Yes,” he ground out.

“Well,” Craig said, while idly drumming his fingertips against the leather.

After the first time, Craig told him it was kind of like being in space, or at least how he imagined it. Tweek had laughed him off, because of course he’d draw comparisons to space somehow. They did it two more times like that between then and now, and with the odd suggestion Craig laid upon him, Tweek found his mind retracing their steps.

Tweek wasn’t sure if it felt like floating in space, but it was certainly not at all how he pictured it. The leather felt cool where it encased his head and his hair and he figured it would probably heat up after a bit of time, slick with his own sweat, but it was comfortable in the beginning when it pressed upon his cheeks and his scalp. Even with his ears stopped up the way they were he didn’t find the pulsating in his head to be as overwhelming as he’d expected. He’d been correct about how it would just be him and his own head, his own thoughts, down inside his own body, but his thoughts hadn’t turned against him. Nothing stabbed against the inside of his skull like daggers. In fact, there was a blissful emptiness, and he felt almost—elevated, would elevated be the term? Ascended?

But it wasn’t like he _left_ his body. He felt more like he was down _into_ his body, more conscious of everything around him he couldn’t see or hear. The sheets under his skin. The faint breeze of their ceiling fan as it cooled him. The taste of his own mouth and the rich scent of leather. He wasn’t trapped. Craig hadn’t tied him up—that probably _would_ have sent him reeling, spiraling. Even though it was possible to hear Tweek’s voice, albeit muffled by the mask, Craig gave him the security of reaching up and gripping the left bedpost if he wanted this to stop.

“But what if I can’t find it?”

“If I see you moving around trying to locate it,” Craig had told him, “I’ll know that’s what you’re trying to do.” When Tweek was still skeptical, he pantomimed doing that very thing, and then reached over, guided his own hand and pressed it to the indicated post. “I’ll go like that,” he said, “and if that’s what you were trying to do, you can grab it. Okay?”

He was there now, in that black—space, void, whatever name could be slapped onto it—and in his own nakedness. Craig was lying beside him, hand in his, but he must have gotten restless, because he felt those fingers slide up his wrist and light upon him there. They traced the line of his pulse and it went all the way down into his toes and Tweek shivered. He’d told Craig he wasn’t in the mood for sex, and he meant it, but even like this, it felt like a place beyond gratification. He just wanted to feel everything _good_ in his life as much as possible.

Tweek let his arms rest at his sides, let his fingers tangle into the sheets. If Craig spoke to him, he wouldn’t hear a thing. They would have to communicate by touch. And Craig promised he wouldn’t let go of him, not even for a second. Tweek stuck his hands out, felt around for him and found him at his side, immediately. Even though Craig wouldn’t, couldn’t see it, Tweek smiled anyway, and smoothed his hands over the expanse of warm cotton beneath them. Warm and firm, and then there was skin; Tweek gripped it in one of his hands and realized then it was his arm. He smoothed his palm down the length of it, felt the faintly-goosebumped texture, the hardness of bone underneath, the thin lean muscle, the light but coarse dusting of hair on his forearm. He brought his other hand up, carefully rose it in the air, gingerly brought it forward. He wanted to touch his collar, his throat, but didn’t want to inadvertently poke him in the eye or something.

He felt Craig seize him by the wrist, and Tweek immediately froze, even as he reveled in the feeling of his partner’s strong grip, the weight of his fingers. Craig dragged it through the air and then he felt his hand pressed against something, more fabric, but this time it was thicker, a ribbed texture; oh, and it was curved against Craig’s skin, yes, this must have been his collar. Could Craig read his mind like this? Were his thoughts written all over his skin for him to see? This was only confirmed when he dragged his fingers up and felt the column of flesh that was Craig’s throat, the round marble of his Adam’s apple. As soon as he figured out the way to his jawbone, Craig caught his hand again, and kissed it.

It was like a little flame had just licked across the backs of his knuckles. Tweek didn’t want to lie here like this, feeling out the features of his husband’s face like he was some kind of blind child getting to know a stranger. He wanted to feel his body, his skin, his heartbeat. His hands fell away and pressed up against what he figured to be Craig’s torso, which was only confirmed by the way he felt the subtle give of his stomach as it flexed involuntarily beneath his hands. Tweek slid his hands down the expanse of soft fabric until it abruptly stopped and he was feeling the starchy denim of his jeans. His fingers scrabbled for the edge of Craig’s shirt and poked up behind it, slid underneath to play along the skin he found there.

In a flash it was gone, Craig’s hands like vices around his wrists. Tweek gave a little jerk of surprise, and yanked his arms back. Then he realized—of course. He’d tickled him. That must have been what had happened. A slow grin spread across his face under the mask; he knew Craig couldn’t see his expression, but there was still his weight on the bed, a hand smoothed over his naked shoulder. Tweek brought his hands up again for another attempt; this time he pressed them flush against whatever he encountered, likely his chest, wasn’t it? It was firm, flat, maybe a bit malleable, but there was just the same feeling of Craig’s shirt under his palms. Tweek grabbed up fisfuls of the fabric and tugged. It was the only way, and coupled with how he’d shoved his hands up the bottom of Craig’s shirt before, would he take the hint? Sometimes Craig was a little dense.

Okay, more than a little dense.

But then he was gently pushing Tweek’s hands away, and before Tweek had the chance to frown in disappointment, he felt the ripple of movement through the air against his fingertips, and the brush of fabric, the light shift of weight beside him… his hands were taken up again. _Now,_ it was warm flesh underneath, when they were pressed to Craig’s body. He dragged his hands down, exhaled sharply when he felt the ridges under skin. He pressed inward slightly, dragged his thumbs down every little crevice he knew were ribs, stopped just shy of Craig’s flat stomach. Craig offered no resistance when he dragged his hands back up the center of his body, until he found the soft little coins of his nipples, and let his thumbs come to rest there. For a moment, he just laid his hands upon him like that, felt the careful rise and fall of his breath. His heart, under Tweek’s right hand. Tweek breathed out slowly; even though he was deafened already, somehow, he still felt that instinct if he did not lie still and silent, he would disturb this fragile, impossibly precious energy that floated between them.

Could Craig feel it too? Was this what he meant by floating through space, was Tweek some kind of anchor for him, to remind him where reality was? Tweek traced his thumbs in little circles, felt the delicate skin there knit together into pearly little nubs. The faint thrum under his hand, it grew… louder? _Louder_ was the first thing that struck Tweek’s mind, even though he knew he couldn’t _hear_ it, at least not through his own ears, where he could only hear the churning of his own existence. Maybe since he was stopped up, he could hear Craig’s body through his hands instead. His heart was like a little drum beneath the lean muscle of his chest. His pulse, a humming bassline. Or maybe that was Tweek’s, and they were intermingling. Something touched the back of his hand, featherlight, and he felt his arm twitch in surprise. He was aware of a sinking sensation, a heavy, pressing heat engulfed his own skin, shifted between his arms and when he pressed his hands down he realized he was running them against Craig’s smooth back. There was a firm pressure on either side of him, into the mattress; he felt the foam give way to their mingled weight and he allowed it to meld to his back, mold to the shape of their bodies.

Something tickled the center of his chest and he gave a startled yelp—or at least, he _thought_ he did, Tweek _did_ feel the crack in his throat and thought he heard the thin sound of his own voice travel up his neck right into his eardrums—it went all the way down in a smooth line and back up again, and Tweek’s fingers grasped at whatever they could. He dragged them up, felt the column of Craig’s neck and dug in his fingertips there, kneaded, felt his pulse hum right _there_ too, a throbbing light sank into Tweek’s fingers and pounded across whatever place there was instead of his robbed sight. It was a reddish sort of violet. He dragged his touch upward further still and felt the fine, soft hair. It was a little sticky further up since Craig had sat down beside him straight from work and he always, _always_ made sure his hair was perfect before he left the house. He was very picky about his appearance, all the time, even when it was unnecessary. And now Tweek couldn’t even see him.

Whatever sensation had touched him, it went cool on his skin, and Tweek realized what it was when he felt a brush of warm air against one of his nipples, and then something soft closed around it, _suctioned_ around it, and he arched off the mattress in surprise when a pinching soreness started from that little point and spread out in a scorching heat over his chest. It was immediately soothed with—tongue, obviously, it was his _tongue_ —was Craig trying to fuck with him? Tweek allowed his body to collapse and he swiped at the back of Craig’s head, grasped at a handful of hair and tugged, not hard, but firm enough, and he was released. There was a firm weight against his chest again and he felt the top of Craig’s head nudge up just under his chin. He cupped the back of his skull and rubbed his fingertips over his scalp, marveled at the way he felt nothing but thin, springy tendrils of hair filled with product, and then hardness just underneath, like he was cradling some kind of strange rock under his hands, maybe even an egg—something with thick, hard layers to protect the tender things held within.

Tweek dropped his hands again, somewhere down the vicinity of Craig’s back—there were his bony shoulderblades that felt like wings—and he let out a little gasp of air, his chest tight, as he wrapped his arms tight around his lover’s body and pressed it as close as he could. Craig shifted and he didn’t extract himself from where he lay just under Tweek’s chin, but Tweek felt the pliant little shell between the heavy rock on his chest and his heart, and realized oh, it must have been his ear. He embraced it all so tightly and it didn’t even feel like their skin was pressed together anymore. Just their skeletons, everything else melted and gone away, maybe even their organs, just their bones and nothing else sealed together. Maybe they could die that way. Tweek wasn’t really the morbid type, he didn’t like to think about death, but the thought of their buried bones didn’t frighten him. It just made him feel safe, contained in something greater than just himself, something that couldn’t be ripped away from him because the structure didn’t just house him. It _was_ him, too. And always would be.

He fumbled around with his left hand, found the length of Craig’s arm and scrabbled over his elbow. Craig seemed to understand because it moved for him, and he felt along the firm bone there until he found the crinkled skin of his palm, and then the tiny spaces in between Craig’s long fingers. He slipped them together, and felt the little _clink_ when their ring fingers knocked together, even if he couldn’t hear them.

 

* * *

 

Tweek didn’t know how much time had passed, but suddenly light was streaming against his closed lids, shading them in a deep dark red instead of the blackness he’d gotten used to. He made a small noise and rubbed his eyes. The hollowness in his ears was gone, too, he heard the rustle of sheets and the whir of the air conditioner, the little kiss left on his forehead. “Craig?” he groaned out, and opened his eyes. He was still there, setting the mask aside, and then he reached to comb his fingers through Tweek’s damp hair.

“You fell asleep.”

“I did?” The mere thought sent the impulse to yawn through him, and he did. “How could you tell?”

“You twitch in your sleep,” was Craig's answer. “And then you kicked me.”

Tweek huffed out a self-conscious little laugh through his nose, hand pressed to his mouth. Then he giggled out loud. Craig rolled his eyes, but he laid down beside Tweek, and gently pulled him against his chest. “Did all of that really happen?” Tweek wondered aloud. Craig _was_ shirtless, and he wasn’t wearing lounge pants before but he was now, the worn fabric soft against Tweek’s backside and legs.

“Did what really happen.”

“Me and you. Or did I dream it? I felt really connected to you, Craig, like… I could really feel you, every part of you, inside and out, you know?”

“Yeah,” Craig mumbled into his neck, “but it’s like, midnight now—”

“It was _great,_ ” Tweek continued on, “like I had this hyper-awareness of you, and me, but I could only take it into me through my skin. And I felt everything, _everything,_ man! Our bones, and the tiniest detail, everywhere we touched I thought I was gonna burn up, but in the best of ways, and I wasn’t afraid anymore. It was a really good idea. I want to do it again!”

“Now?”

“No,” Tweek laughed. “Not _now._ Just… sometime. Sometime really soon.”

“Okay,” Craig replied. “But please, right now, I love you, but go the fuck to sleep.”

“I don’t know if I can now!” Tweek admitted. He squirmed around and shifted, pushed his face up against the hollow of Craig’s throat. “I’ll try, though. Just for you.”

“Just for me,” Craig echoed. “Good.”

Luckily, for both of their sakes, sleep claimed him much sooner than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me on [Tumblr](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com) if you want!


	4. Day 04 - Mirror Sex & Dacryphilia (Clyde/Kenny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny charms his way onto Clyde's big dick, and Clyde totally isn't gay at all.
> 
>  
> 
> ( **Applicable Tags:** Power Bottom Kenny, Dacryphilia, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Raw Dogging, Mirror Sex, Spit As Lube, Creampie, Closeted Character, Not Gay)

“So yeah,” Clyde said, as he leaned back with one hand braced against the wooden frame, “I always wanted to fuck a chick in front of this thing.”

“You don’t say,” Kenny replied. He tapped his nails against his jeans: it was a pretty fucking awesome manicure. Bright pink with elegant swirls of pearly white and glittering silver. He could always count on Bebe to come through for him.

“I still can’t believe you have those,” Clyde said. “Did Bebe really do those for you?” He got that wistful look in his eyes when he said it, the way he always did when Bebe somehow entered the subject of their conversations, which was usually spearheaded by him in the first place. Kenny and Bebe weren’t a _thing,_ not really, they were just—well, they had a thing, but they _weren’t_ A Thing—whatever, why was he even thinking about this? Kenny curled the fingers of one hand and casually blew on their tips, as if they needed any more polishing.

“Yep,” he said. “And all I had to do was eat her pussy. A fair trade, I’d say.”

Thirty seconds later found him pressed back against the foot of the bed, Clyde bawling into his shoulder. “It’s just not _faiiir,_ ” he wept. “Why does she like _you_ you’re not even _manly_ and I love her so muuuch!”

“Yep,” Kenny said again, and patted him on the back. “Poor fella. Why would she pick me over you? You’re a class fuckin’ act all the way and I’m sure you’d give her the dicking of a lifetime.”

“I _would!_ ” Clyde blew his nose on the sleeve of Kenny’s t-shirt. That was kind of gross. But the tears soaking through into his shoulder were not. It was like they were some kind of special elixir that brought him power. Clyde was so fucking _dumb,_ all this crying he did over a girl whose radar he didn’t even register on, when he had someone ready to take his dick right before his very eyes. Kenny ruffled his hair. At least phase one of his plan had taken off.

It wasn’t really a plan. He already knew he was going to take Clyde Donovan’s big fat dick by the end of the night. In fact, it was set to happen somewhere within the next fifteen minutes. Kenny was tired of Clyde’s stupidity and he was tired of his closeted bullshit. Earlier that day in the cafeteria he got all weird because they had both tacos _and_ hot dogs. “It’s never _both_ Taco Day and Hot Dog Day at the same time!” Clyde had shouted. “How am I supposed to choose? This is the _worst_ day of my _life!_ ”

No one else understood why Kenny was laughing so hard. Well, except maybe Tweek. Tweek got it, because he was also into tits, even though he was lucky enough to be getting dicked down by both the worst person in the world _and_ the hottest guy at school—who happened to be one in the same. Tweek just had better things to do than acknowledge someone else’s problems, like have a crisis because the water fountains tasted differently that week or their math teacher’s formulaic handwriting had changed, or something.

“Listen,” Kenny said, while he rubbed little circles into Clyde’s back. “Chicks like Bebe, they’re a dime a dozen. She’s probably blowing the captain of the football team right now as we speak.” It felt somewhat wrong to throw Bebe under the bus, but she was a real pal, she’d understand if she knew. Clyde just sobbed harder.

“I was _almost_ captain this year,” he wept. “Why does Bridon Gueermo get _everything?_ ”

“Because he’s hot,” Kenny replied sympathetically. “He’s a Chad. Chads get everything in life. You’re more of a— well, you’re a Clyde.”

“What does that even mean,” Clyde choked out.

“Listen,” said Kenny, and he drew back so he could swipe his thumb over Clyde’s cheek like he was wiping his tears away. That was how he tended to comfort girls. Now that he was 18 he was a little older and a little wiser to the fact that comforting girls by having sex with them was kind of really shitty, but Clyde was kind of a douchebag, so it was okay. Boy, Clyde sure was an ugly crier. It wasn’t enough to put Kenny off, though. Not by a long shot. His butthole puckered in anticipation of what was to come and he felt a little chub form in his jeans. “You’re a good looking guy,” he continued, in a gentler tone. “None of this shit’s even gonna matter after graduation. And college chicks are easy. So easy, they’ll even fuck guys who are still in high school.” He knew _that_ from experience.

“Really?” Clyde snuffled loudly.

“Yeah. They’ll be climbing all over this dick. Mark my words.”

Five minutes and some more soft words later, and Kenny was on his knees, cradling Clyde’s single testicle in his manicured hand and stretching his jaw on that monster cock of his. Mission successful. He moaned like a slut around him and brought his hand down to tickle Clyde’s taint with the edge of a nail. Clyde grunted in response.

“Don’t put that in my butt!”

Kenny let his dick sloppily fall out of his mouth, a thin line of mingled drool and precum stitching it to his bottom lip, and then it was gone. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said, as he started to jack on him. “It’s gonna be my ass taking this thing. You wanna put this in my ass?”

“Yes!” Clyde wailed. “But, don’t keep doing that! I’m gonna nut if you do!”

“Fair enough.” Kenny dropped him and climbed up into Clyde’s lap where he sat on the foot of the bed. “Where’s the lube?”

“The what?”

“Jesus,” Kenny replied. “You don’t have any lube? The girls at our school aren’t _that_ loose.”

“Uuuhhh,” Clyde groaned. “I dunno, _usually_ I finger them first! I thought they did that naturally!”

“Clyde, Clyde,” Kenny tutted at him. He shook his head. “Sweet Clyde. You gonna do a pal a favour and put those sausage fingers where the sun don’t shine?” Clyde blanched at the idea.

“I don’t know if I can put my fingers in a butt,” he said. “What if I get shit on them?”

“Excuse you!” Kenny shot back. “I am a lady, and a lady always cleans out her ass before socially engineering a jilted lover’s cock into her rectum.”

“What?”

Kenny rolled his eyes. “It’s clean. I promise you it’s clean. I made sure of that myself.”

“Well…” Clyde still seemed reluctant, but when Kenny stretched out over his lap sideways with his butt in the air, he got _real_ fucking excited and grabbed it, squeezed it tightly in his hands. “Wow!” he said after spreading the cheeks. “You’re so _hairless!_ It’s almost like you’re a chick already!”

“Yep,” Kenny said, and winked at him. With his ass. “I came out looking like this. It’s a fucking miracle.” Actually, he waxed, courtesy of Bebe, but why look such a pretty delusion in the mouth? Clyde prodded roughly at his hole. “Whoa, hey, _hey!_ Jesus dude, spit on a guy first, will ya?”

“Oh,” said Clyde. “Sorry.”

“Lick your fingers, too. Actually, wait. Give ‘em here.” Kenny reached behind him and yanked Clyde’s arm around, grabbed his large hand and rubbed his tongue up against his fingers. He drew them into his mouth one by one and slurped, drooled all over them, while he heard a little _tuh_ come from behind him and then felt the resulting slop of wet on his buttcrack. He released Clyde and let him stick his fingers in, bearing down eagerly. His ass was really fucking hungry and Clyde’s fingers were just the mozzarella sticks. (His dick was the steak and his nut, the potatoes. Obviously.)

“It’s so tight,” Clyde said, not in the hot way but in the surprised way that hinged on childlike wonder. Kenny had to give him props at least: Clyde may have been a fuckboy, but at least he never tried the _wrong hole_ ploy.

“Yep,” Kenny grunted out. “Two of those things should be enough.” His ass burned like crazy, but it didn’t hurt, it just “felt weird”—as they say in yaoi manga. Clyde spit again and clumsily shoved his fingers back and forth. Kenny shifted a little and felt Clyde’s engorged trouser snake under his thigh. Heat pooled in his groin and he actually drooled a little. “Please don’t tell me this is how you finger girls,” he remarked, as Clyde practically jackhammered up into his chute.

“Well yeah,” Clyde replied. “You put your fingers in and move them around. Right?” Kenny gave a heartfelt sigh.

“Just take them out,” he said. “ _Slowly._ ” Clyde did as he was told, and Kenny sat up. “Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna sit on your dick. Did you like watching yourself finger my butthole in the mirror?”

“Oh man!” Clyde whined. “I was so busy looking at your butt that I forgot to watch!”

Of course he did. Kenny wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or not, but it didn’t matter. It was dinnertime and he was going to fucking inhale that main course. He sat astride Clyde’s lap with his chicken legs bent up on the bed behind him, so Clyde could watch in the mirror right over Kenny’s shoulder.

Kenny reached down and caught Clyde’s dick in his hand. “Wait!” Clyde said as Kenny pressed his asshole up against it. “What about a condom?”

“Nah,” said Kenny. “We’re raw-dogging this. Not like you can get me pregnant, right? It’s just the AIDS you gotta worry about.” When Clyde’s eyes widened in an expression that looked positively stricken, Kenny laughed and gave him a smack on the shoulder. “I’m kidding, bro. Chill the fuck out. I’m clean, remember?”

“Well, okay,” said Clyde.

“It’s gonna feel so good,” Kenny promised him as he sank onto Clyde’s dick, “for you and for me. But mostly me. _Ah,_ shit…” He squeezed his eyes shut and felt Clyde clutch at his shoulders. “Yeah, fuck, that’s so good. Openin’ my ass up wide with your dick, holy shit. You’re gonna fucking destroy my ass, big boy.”

“Uh-huh,” Clyde cried out, and pistoned his hips upward. Kenny felt like he was on the verge of being fucking disemboweled by that thing, but his ass was pretty damn pliable, and it formed around Clyde’s cock like a fucking glove. With a low growl, Kenny started to move his hips, letting that big dong work its way in and out of his eager, desperately wanting butt, and oh boy, Clyde was really getting into it. He was grunting in a way that was all hot and masculine and rutting like he didn’t give a shit whether it was an ass _or_ a pussy around him.

“Yeah,” Kenny encouraged. “Yeah, you fuck my ass, c’mon, fuck it hard. Bet you look good in that mirror, you fucking narcissist.”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Clyde groaned back at him, though Kenny had the feeling he didn’t know what ‘narcissist’ meant. “I look so good, your ass looks pretty good too, man.” He reached down and squeezed it.

“You can even pretend I’m a chick if you wanna,” said Kenny, and a particularly rough thrust sent him mewling, those lovely nails of his scratching down Clyde’s back. At first he thought Clyde would be a big baby about it, but it just made him grip Kenny harder and arch his chest up against his. His body felt nice. It was a little chubby, but Clyde definitely worked out, and he could feel the muscles roll under that layer of fat. “C’mon,” Kenny cooed at him. “Fuckin’ rail me, gimme that big dick! Fuck _yeah!_ ”

They were really going at it, Kenny fiercely humping and Clyde fucking up into him like his life depended on it. The bed bounced and squeaked and Clyde’s legs kept banging up against the footboard. Good thing his dad wasn’t home. In the heat of the moment something dripped onto Kenny’s bare shoulder and he whipped his head around to find Clyde was crying again. Fantastic. “I’m not _gaaay!_ ” he sobbed.

“Shhh,” Kenny combed his fingers through Clyde’s hair and then patted him on the shoulder. “You’re screwing a guy up the ass and getting off on watchin’ yourself do it. I’d say that’s pretty gay.”

Clyde just cried even more at that, but he didn’t tear his gaze away from the mirror, either. He was certainly a strange one. And Kenny thought _he_ was the weirdo here. “You just, you feel so good,” he hiccuped.

“So do you,” Kenny said softly. It was like they were sharing a moment or something. Which was also pretty gay, but he decided not to point it out. Instead, he dropped a hand between their sweaty bodies to jerk off. A groan fell from his lips, and he felt Clyde shudder in response, so he decided to ham it up by huskily whispering, _yes, baby, I’m cumming, cum for me_ into his ear as he shot all over Clyde’s stomach. Clyde gripped him tight and whined into his neck as he came inside him. It was warm and nasty and sticky and precisely what Kenny wanted.

Kenny blew out a quick breath between his lips and got up off him. “ _Ahhh,_ yeah,” he sighed as Clyde’s dick slid out of his hole, followed by a little dollop of cum. Kenny grinned. “You into cream pies?”

“God, yeah,” Clyde gasped out. Kenny had the feeling Clyde had only watched them in porn, not experienced any for himself, and he eagerly bent over to give him a front row seat to the sight of his wet, abused asshole pushing out globs of cum. Clyde was practically drooling when Kenny turned back over and laid against the bed like that, pelvis and legs sprawled over his lap.

“Not bad,” Kenny remarked pleasantly. “Not bad at all. I gotta go wipe my ass, though. BRB.” He said it just like that, each letter, as he got up and fumbled around on the floor for his pants. Once he got into the bathroom, Kenny sat down on the toilet and immediately fired off a text to his bestest girl friend in the world, who he had a bit of a thing with but they weren’t actually A Thing.

_I did it, thx i owe u 1_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	5. Day 05 - Feederism (Craig/Tweek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's baking day, and that's Craig's favourite time of the week.
> 
>  
> 
> ( **Applicable Tags:** Service Top Craig, Feederism, Hand Feeding, Weight Gain, Body Positivity, Implied/Reference Drug Addiction)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A'ight, so this isn't _hardcore_ feederism, but I did read that the fetish could range from pudginess to obesity! And in spite of how I tend to write him, I do enjoy a pudgy Tweek. ;) This also got pretty fluffy because god damn it Creek.
> 
> (I'm also two days behind now... sigh)

“Craig, _stop!_ ” Tweek giggled and swiped blindly at the space behind him when Craig took him by the hips, and pressed him forward into the oven, the handle of the door pushing into his pudgy belly. Naturally, Craig did not stop, only pressed a kiss to the nape of his partner’s neck and slipped a hand down between Tweek’s soft body and the glass of the door to rub his hand there.

He _loved_ baking day. Craig wasn’t much for sweets or baked goods, but he fucking _loved_ baking day. He reached for the giant spoon sat neglected in the plastic blue bowl which once held the cake batter, now empty save for thick smears of chocolate, and pushed it up against Tweek’s mouth. Tweek laughed at him again and shoved the spoon away. “Lick it,” Craig commanded. “Time to eat up. Yum yum.”

“It’s _not_ yum yum _yet!_ ” Tweek argued. Craig dipped his finger into the bowl and swiped up a sticky gob of chocolate. Tweek rolled his eyes, but finally acquiesced to accepting it, sucking it all into his mouth until everything was licked clean. He sighed like Craig had just tickled one of his erogenous zones.

“That’s right,” said Craig. “I know how much you love chocolate. I know you can’t wait. Lick the bowl clean.”

“It’ll be ready in five minutes!” But then Craig had the bowl in his hands, and he shoved it right over Tweek’s face with a triumphant smirk. The resounding little shriek was muffled by the expanse of plastic. But then Tweek put his hands on it, and Craig saw the lash of his tongue. He rested his hands on his hips, and teasingly rubbed at the love handles he felt against the fabric of his shirt, hung over the waist of his pants.

“Should we bother with icing?” asked Tweek as he donned an oven mitt. He looked almost unbearably adorable like that. Craig was a bit disappointed he was no longer wearing his apron. It would have completed his sexy little baker look, in his mind—but he wasn’t about to complain when he watched Tweek bend over to open the oven and the fragrant smell of chocolate cake wafted out into the room and filled the air around them. Comforting smells. Homelike smells. They were warm and sweet and he couldn't associate them with anyone else, any _thing_ else.

“Yeah,” Craig told him. “The icing is the best part. Isn't it?”

“Well…” Tweek started. Craig wasn't about to argue _or_ stall him, though. The buttercream icing came out and together, with their knives, they coated the entire surface of the decadent pastry. Craig was already picturing Tweek’s mouth on it. His pretty, full lips dusted with sugar, tongue darting out to lick the final traces away after filling his mouth with chunks of the dessert. The hazy pleasure in his eyes and the sweet way he always hummed in his throat, this mingled noise of approval—as if his own abilities ever needed it—and delight, and pleasure. His cheeks would get rounder. His smooth, soft throat as he swallowed.

Craig could already feel himself getting hard. They hadn’t even started yet.

“Sit down,” he said, and pulled out a chair. Tweek did as he was told. His legs were parted slightly, and he rested his hands on his thighs, eyes focused entirely on Craig as he set the cake down on the table and cut the first slice. His knife slid through the moist pastry like butter, and came up with a great wedge of it, which Craig laid out on the plate already awaiting them on the table. The process left residual crumbs on his fingertips, which he pressed to Tweek’s lips. With a tiny grin, Tweek’s tongue darted out, licked them clean, briefly drew them inside for a suck. Craig sighed softly.

“I don’t know if I can eat this whole thing!” Tweek admitted once Craig hoisted up the plate.

“Getting soft on me, Tweek?” Craig teased back.

“I’ve _never_ been able to eat the _whole_ thing!” laughed Tweek. “I don’t know what you’re even talking about!”

“Maybe you can take in half,” Craig suggested. “Can you do half for me?”

“Well…” Tweek sounded hesitant. “I guess I’ll try! For you!”

“Of course you will.” Craig tore off the first morsel, and pressed it to Tweek’s lips. There was the brush of his damp mouth on Craig’s fingers, the light nipping of teeth. The tickle of his tongue, as he drew in the whole bite and chewed slowly. Tweek’s eyes practically lit up when he did, a pleased little sound in the back of his throat. That was what Craig loved to hear. He stroked the back of his other hand over Tweek’s messy bangs. “How is it?”

“S’good,” Tweek mumbled. Craig broke off another chunk and Tweek obediently took it when offered, even though he hadn’t finished the first bite. He was always polite enough to chew with his mouth closed, and it was cute, the way his cheeks puffed out. Craig reached out to poke one of them, and Tweek narrowed his eyes, jerked back from his touch, but Craig _heard_ that tiny giggle he tried so badly to suppress. He smirked.

“I should just push this whole slice into your mouth,” he said. “You’re good at filling it up, after all.”

Tweek’s eyes widened, and as soon as he swallowed everything, he gave his partner a shove and yipped out, “ _Craig!_ ”

“What.” Craig picked up the wedge of cake in his hands, as if he threatened to do that very thing, but instead he broke off another piece and offered it up. Tweek licked it from his fingertips.

“I gotta get warmed up first!” he told him. “But maybe then I’ll give it a try…” He flashed Craig a sly little grin and Craig reached out to wipe a smear of chocolate from the corner of Tweek’s mouth.

Life hadn’t always been like this, so warm, so comfortable, so… soft. After years of watching him deteriorate, Craig finally bore witness to Tweek’s livelihood bottoming out. Falling in love with his childhood friend, only to watch the lively and strange but sweet boy of his dreams waste away before his very eyes, all of them powerless to stop it—even Tweek himself—had been more than Craig could bear. When Tweek was finally committed to the hospital and his parents brought to justice, he was so skeletal Craig could practically count his vertebrae through his clothing. His face was gaunt and white and his hipbones were like daggers whenever Craig held him.

He had to be fed through a fucking IV tube. It was a very black period, not just for them but for everyone else in their lives who mattered. The devastation Tweek’s parents wrought on him, it spread out over their world like ripples in a pond. Perhaps the most painful of all was how Tweek refused to give up. But it was a good ache. Craig held his thin hands every day he could until Tweek was deemed fit for normal society again. It wasn’t an easy road to walk: there had been large cracks in the pavement and relapses and questionable judgment, and opened and closed doors, but the colour did return to Tweek’s cheeks, and the light to his eyes. Their lives would never be normal, but what was normal, anyway?

As Tweek gradually recovered to get his imposed addiction under control—it would never be _gone,_ not completely, but he was determined to seize his autonomy by the balls—he filled out wonderfully. He was a little on the chubby side when they were younger and Craig had always been into it. He wanted to get that side of him back again and he was determined to do so. It started with a shared love for fine foods and then Tweek took up baking again and Craig was absolutely done for. The cherubic roundness returned to his partner’s face but more importantly, it happened one day when Craig decided to feed him one of his muffins by hand: he’d dropped his hand to Tweek’s stomach and was delighted to realize there was softness there.

And then around a week later when they’d returned from a fine meal and Tweek flopped onto the couch, groaned that he was going to _pop_ from eating so much food and reached down, undid the button of his pants and let his adorable little belly swell out with a relieved sigh—Craig, much to his surprise, immediately got hard. “I think you’ve been putting on weight,” he murmured into his ear later that night, when they stripped to shower together. Tweek blanched at the idea, not to mention Craig’s undeniable lack of tact, but then Craig’s hand slid over his stomach and further down, and he seemed to understand.

He wasn’t happy about it, not at first, but he seemed to understand.

Tweek was still a bit on the scrawny side then. The corners of him no longer poked into Craig when they embraced, sharp reminders of what he was forced to endure, but his ribs still stuck out. Craig was determined to fatten him up. And so for the past six or so months, he set about doing exactly that. Tweek filled himself out even more and god, it was so fucking hot, Craig had no idea it would be this _hot_ to watch him go from emaciation to soft and round, he was unspeakably adorable and Craig couldn’t stop putting his hands all over him.

So baking day became a tradition of theirs. It wasn’t just a day for gluttonous dessert-eating: it was a symbol that it was all right to indulge, it was perfectly fine to let go and let someone else take care of him and treat him at the same time. And most of all, it was perfectly fine to not be so damn _skinny,_ because he was warm and healthy and filled with love and it was _sexy._ There was a quirky eroticism that came from pushing bites of soft cake or cookies or pie into Tweek’s eagerly waiting mouth, it was weird and gross just like they were, and Craig adored baking day.

“Ready to take this whole thing?” Craig goaded him on, and lifted the rest of the slice in his hands. It was about half of the thing, the other fed to Tweek in manageable bites, certainly no bigger than anything _else_ Tweek happily brought into his mouth. Tweek laughed and shook his head, but it was more of the playful incredulous sort rather than a negative answer to his question.

“Fine!” Tweek answered with a wave of his hand. “Fine, I’ll try it! Put it in my mouth, Craig!”

Craig’s tongue flicked over his teeth. “Open wide, babe,” he said, and Tweek did, and there were still mashed little bits on his tongue which was both disgusting and cute at the same time. Craig pushed the cake up into his mouth and Tweek gave a little snort, but he took it in, all of it in, and closed his lips around it. His cheeks were _really_ bulging out then, and Craig gave a short, admiring laugh.

“ _Mmmf,_ ” went Tweek, and collapsed back against the chair with a dazed roll of the eyes, like he was pleasured and pained at once. Little smacking noises came from his mouth even as he tried to quell them, because it was filled practically to bursting. Craig saw his throat work as he began to swallow it down in careful little pulses. He reached out and stroked a hand lovingly over Tweek’s inner thigh, and a little sputtering squeak came from him in response before the inevitable shove; Craig felt a few wet crumbs fly onto his cheek and he brought a hand up to wipe them away. Tweek’s eyes were wide.

“What,” Craig asked dryly. “Say it, don’t spray it.”

Tweek hurriedly swallowed down the rest, and kicked out in Craig’s general direction. “Don’t _do_ that!” he scolded. “Man, you almost made me choke!”

“Well,” Craig replied, “I wouldn’t want you to choke.” He dutifully sliced off another thick piece of cake. “I wanna see how much of this one you can take.”

“I’m _definitely_ not taking all of _that!_ ” Tweek protested. Craig kissed him on the forehead.

“Just bite off what you can,” he said. “But not more than you can chew.” To Tweek’s credit, he _could_ take a lot, and he did, stuffed his face right up again and moaned happily as he swallowed it down. He lifted a hand to wipe the frosting off his mouth and sucked it off his fingers.

“You’re a mess,” Craig teased after they’d gotten three slices of cake in him. Tweek was halfway through his fourth before he gave a great whine and pushed Craig away. The rest of that piece fell from Craig’s fingers onto the floor to join the rest of the fallen bits that had strayed off as collateral damage.

“ _Ohhh,_ ” Tweek groaned, a hand over his stomach. “No more! I can’t take anymore!”

“Well,” said Craig, “you _almost_ ate half of the entire cake, until you did that.”

“Ugghh,” moaned Tweek. While Craig swept up the mess, he reached down and undid his pants. His full tummy popped out from beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He rubbed his hand over it a few times while looking Craig right in the eye.

Craig knew that look.

After cleaning up he came back over and pressed a kiss first to his cheek, then on the mouth. Tweek licked softly at his lips and then they were kissing passionately, the sweetness still on his tongue. Craig slipped his hand under Tweek’s shirt and rubbed his tummy in slow circles. He could feel it churning a little under his hand, which only intensified the blooming heat between his own legs. Even hotter still, with Tweek’s pants undone he could see the bulge of his underwear hanging out of him, as Tweek’s cock strained against the fabric.

“Stand up,” Craig told him. Tweek whined in protest but he got up to his feet anyway. Craig pulled his pants down and then worked the underwear down his thighs. Tweek’s cock poked out from underneath his belly, flushed pink at the top. Craig gently groped him and watched as Tweek sighed, head lolling back ever-so-slightly. “Take your shirt off,” Craig said next.

Tweek did, without question or complaint. He pulled it over his head and dropped it onto the chair, then stepped out of the clothing that had been pushed down to his ankles. Craig swept his eyes over him admiringly. He was chubby indeed, the bones of him present but no longer an eyesore, with that precious round belly Craig adored so much and soft pink nipples. The fat on his chest was lovely too, enough to make it protrude just a bit, cute hairless little man-boobs Craig loved squeezing and putting his mouth on. He did just that, humming out a pleased _mmm_ as he first kissed a line down the center of Tweek’s chest, and then dragged his tongue over a nipple, sucked it into his mouth. Tweek sighed and ran his fingers through his lover’s hair.

“Hey,” he pouted. “If I’m gonna be naked, you have to too!”

“Fine,” said Craig. He stood up straight and unceremoniously took off his clothes, dropped them onto the chair atop Tweek’s discarded pile. Tweek’s tongue darted over his lips when he saw how hard Craig was, too.

“I have a little room left,” he remarked, coyly. Craig smiled.

“Turn around first,” he said. “I wanna see your butt.” Tweek rolled his eyes but he did as Craig told him, and turned his back to him so Craig could get an eyeful of his luscious, doughy ass. He made an appreciative noise, something hinged on a growl, grabbed handfuls of it and squeezed. Tweek moaned softly and bent over a little, elbows braced on the chair as Craig slowly kneaded him.

“Feels nice!” he said happily. Craig ran his thumbs up into the crack, briefly spread it so he could admire Tweek’s cute pink hole and then gave his ass an affectionate little slap.

“You can stand up again.”

They kissed again and held each other tightly, both of them maneuvering their hips in little circles so that their cocks rubbed together. Craig reached down and stroked them both in his hands, driven on by Tweek’s little noises. “I still have room,” Tweek breathily reminded him. It was tempting to have Tweek get down on his knees and take him up, suck him off and swallow all his come, he was _so_ fucking good with his mouth, but his soft belly kept rubbing up against Craig’s dick and _that_ felt positively wonderful. He seized himself and tapped it against Tweek’s navel.

“I have a better idea,” he said with a grin. Tweek rolled his eyes.

It didn’t take long at all for Craig to come as he rubbed himself off on Tweek’s belly, turned on and eager from both Tweek’s enjoyment of his treat and Craig’s own admiration of his adorable, chubby body. Feeling Tweek’s lovely cock rub up against his inner thigh certainly didn’t help matters, either. It seeped out onto Tweek’s skin and Craig moaned in mingled relief and delight. “Fuck,” he panted as Tweek rubbed his back. “You have such an amazing body, babe.”

“I know,” Tweek teased him. That warmed Craig’s heart even more. Tweek had been very self-conscious in the beginning, lamenting to Craig he’d be more attractive to him if he had his “twink build” back, but Craig was very open about letting him know how deep his love _and_ lust for him ran. The idea he somehow _didn’t_ want more Tweek to love was nipped in the bud rather quickly. “And now you can worship it even more in the shower!”

“Not yet,” Craig replied. “Let’s sit here for a minute.”

“Nope!” was all Tweek had to say, and he turned around, very intentionally lending Craig another eyeful of his sweet ass as he jogged off toward the staircase.

“ _Ugh,_ ” groaned Craig, and resignedly gave chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me on [Tumblr](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com) if you want!


	6. Day 06 - Corset & Biting (Wendy/Bebe/Kenny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny and Bebe (but mostly Bebe) finally bite the bullet and seduce the girl Bebe's been crushing on. They (but mostly Kenny) get more than they bargained for.
> 
>  
> 
> ( **Applicable Tags:** Corsetry, Biting, Threesome - F/F/M, Femdom, Flogging, Cock Slapping, Cunnilingus, Sex Toys, Anal Play, Gags, Face Slapping)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be simpler...

“Hurry up!” Bebe pretended to whine. Her hand was clapped firmly over her eyes, unwilling to witness the art of her own form until it was ready. Kenny gave one final pull of the lacing and walked around to the front of her.

“Stand up,” he said. She did. Kenny licked his lips as his eyes roamed over her body. She looked _incredible._ Bordering on devastating, really. The blood-red brocade of her steel-boned corset, along with its black leather trim, was both beautiful and dangerous against her fair skin. She’d already had curves and tits that drove most of the boys they knew (and even a few of the girls) absolutely batshit, but the garment cinched in at the waist just complemented her wide hips and succulent ass even more. Her ample cleavage was pushed up wonderfully into even more of an amazing rack, and Kenny really wanted to motorboat it, but goddamn if she didn’t look like she’d flog the shit out of him and claw him to shreds if he tried.

Then again, maybe that was what he wanted.

“Well?” Bebe asked impatiently. “How do I look?”

“Incredible,” said Kenny. Bebe dropped her hand and immediately grinned at the _femme fatale_ who stared back at her from the mirror. She picked up her discarded red lipstick and touched up her lips.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she commented. “I still have to put everything else on.”

 

* * *

 

Arm-in-arm they strolled over the front walk toward the house where the party was taking place. Naturally, they arrived fashionably late, and the house was filled with random costumes and cosplay and fog, they’d actually gotten a fucking fog machine. Some kind of tacky skeleton on the wall screeched at them as they walked by. It didn’t scare Kenny, but Bebe jumped. It made her breasts jiggle slightly. He grinned.

“Shut up,” Bebe said, and shoved at him. “God, I hate you.”

“Kenny! Whazzup my man?” Clyde maneuvered past them and slapped their hands together. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bebe roll her eyes.

“Dude, no one says ‘whazzup’ anymore,” replied Kenny. “Come on.”

“What are you supposed to be?” Clyde laughed instead, but his gaze was focused squarely on Bebe’s cleavage. Christ. He was like a goddamn puppy dog when it came to her. And Clyde was drunk. He was so obviously drunk. Bebe fluffed back her hair.

“You better not spill beer in my tits,” she warned him.

“Can I lick it up when I do?”

Bebe giggled demurely, and just like that, it abruptly ceased. “Get the fuck away from me, Clyde. Hon, do I have lipstick on my teeth?”  
  
“Nope.”

“Fine!” Clyde shouted at her retreating back. “Play hard to get!” Kenny watched her drift away into the living room. He hoped it was because she found what they came for.

“All right, buddy,” Kenny said with a heavy pat to the guy’s shoulder. “Ease up, yeah?”

Clyde leaned back against the wall and scowled, arms crossed like a pouting child. “Your costume’s stupid,” he said. “What’re you guys even supposed to be?”

“I’m a starry-eyed artist with dreams of grandeur who’s down on his luck,” Kenny replied. He was not wearing a costume. “And she wanted to show off her new steampunk outfit. I don’t get that shit, but whatever.”

“Is that the crap with the gears on it? Wendy said she was a gear punk or whatever too.” So she _was_ here. Bingo.

“Yeah,” said Kenny. “It’s the crap with gears on it. Uh, I gotta go now. We’re really just here to make the rounds. See ya.” He filtered his way through other partygoers, checked out a slutty bunny girl in his peripherals who barely had any shape to her and therefore was not his type, and entered the living room. He stopped short when he saw Wendy, who was wearing a fancy velvet waistcoat and a top hat with some metal shit on it, sort of leaning against the back of the couch with her arm resting on it. She was talking animatedly with Bebe, who kept giggling in that certain _way_ she did whenever she was around someone she had a crush on. Wendy probably didn’t know that was her tell. But Kenny certainly did.

Fuck, she was adorable. They were adorable. Kenny felt his heart swell just watching them. It definitely went beyond an admiration for two hot girls together.

Though he wouldn’t deny _that_ mental image was giving him a halfie, too.

 

* * *

 

A drive home, and a couple of drinks later, they were seated on the couch and Wendy finally took off her hat. Her gorgeous, mink-black hair spilled down over her shoulders. She reached up to smooth the odd tangle out.

“I want to brush your hair,” Bebe said, “but first, let’s get more of this costume off.” She smoothed her hands down the front of Wendy’s fuzzy, dark purple coat and plucked at the bright gold buttons along the front. Wendy smiled as she slid the coat off her shoulders and hung it on the back of the couch. Bebe bent in and kissed her gently on the mouth. It was sweet and light.

Wendy kissed her back, but she looked apprehensive. “Hey,” she said. “You guys don’t have that one-penis policy, do you?”

“Nah,” Kenny replied with a wave of his hand. He was seated on the other side of Bebe and he had a front row seat to all of this. “I can take as much dick as I want.” Both ladies erupted in laughter.

“I can too,” Bebe added when it died down again. “I just haven’t.”

“Okay,” said Wendy. “I’m glad that’s cleared up.” She unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall open. “Help me get this off, please,” she said, and indicated the tight black tanktop underneath that mashed her breasts flat against her chest. Kenny watched Bebe first remove her blouse the rest of the way, and then Wendy lifted her arms, and together they got her shimmied out of the binder. She sighed in relief when her breasts were out. She had nice ones, too. They weren’t big, but they were perky.

“All this time, I was so sure you didn’t have a penis,” Kenny remarked. Bebe swatted at him.

“I don’t,” Wendy coolly replied. “I just don’t want to be a part of this if you do. I don’t buy into the idea that a connection between two women is somehow less threatening than one with another man.”

Kenny chuckled at that. He couldn’t help it. “Oh, I’m threatened,” he teased. “Believe me. Threaten me all you fucking want.”

“Maybe I will,” Wendy said, with a devilish little smile.

“You’re not just like, a random hookup,” said Bebe. “I’m actually really into you.” The way she said the words were bold, but Kenny saw the flush light her cheeks. He reached out and affectionately squeezed her bare shoulder.

“Yeah,” he decided to add in. “She is. She wouldn’t shut up about it for like, the past week.” Bebe turned around and swatted at him again, but he ducked in time.

“Anyway,” Bebe continued, and Kenny could see she was starting to get nervous. “I actually have like, a really big crush on you, and we don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to! I was hoping this could go somewhere.” She looked to Kenny for guidance, but he just shrugged. He might’ve joked about it a few seconds ago, but he didn’t want to overpower the situation. As much as he’d been dying to fuck (or get fucked by) Wendy Testaburger since they were in eighth grade, this was ultimately for Bebe. Kenny knew where his attraction to her stood, Bebe held more than that for her.

“I want to.” Wendy cupped her face in her hands, and this time she was the one who initiated the kiss. It was open-mouthed this time, a little deeper than before, but they didn’t use tongue. She didn’t linger long enough for that.

“Let’s move into the bedroom,” Bebe suggested. Wendy nodded her agreement, and they got up. Bebe cast a grin at Kenny over her shoulder, and he genuinely smiled back. The bedroom door closed behind them.

Kenny busied himself with scrolling through Reddit. Even if he was going to be respectful and accommodating of Bebe exploring her feelings, he couldn’t deny that he felt a _little_ left out. And he was a typical guy—no matter how mature he was about their potential connection, it wasn’t like the thought of his girlfriend with another beautiful woman would have no effect on him. He was already popping a goddamn boner just thinking about it, and the knowledge that depending on how far they got, overhearing them was a _very_ distinct possibility. There was no way he’d be getting to sleep anytime soon.

The door cracked open and footsteps padded across the wooden floor. Kenny immediately looked up to see Wendy coming around from the back of the couch. She was still topless and in her trousers like she had been at the point they exited the living room, though her belt was missing.

“What are you doing?”

“Reddit.” Kenny shrugged. “What are _you_ doing?”

“I came out here to get you,” Wendy replied. “So get in there.” Kenny cocked an eyebrow.

“You sure?”

“We’re sure,” Wendy said pointedly.

“Well, shit.” Kenny wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He got to his feet and followed Wendy back into the bedroom he shared with Bebe. Bebe was right there in her lovely corset and as soon as Kenny crossed the threshold, they were both on him: Bebe pulled off his shirt and Wendy undid his jeans. She slipped a hand inside and fondled him.

“Hard already,” she remarked to Bebe. Bebe giggled.

“I told you!”

“I mean,” Kenny stated, “you know I’d be fine with you being alone together.”

“That’s why you’re a good guy, Kenny,” Wendy informed him as she pulled down his pants. “But I’ve been told I have an ego sometimes.”

“Get on the bed, honey,” Bebe told him once he was fully naked. They were not. Wendy hadn’t made a move to take off her pants and Bebe was still in her corset, though in the short span of time before Wendy retrieved him she’d gotten rid of her bustled skirts. Before they left for the party she had put on sheer black thigh-high stockings underneath and clipped them to her silky red panties. Now that was all she had on. Kenny’s mouth was already watering at the sight of her ass, which seemed to stick out even more underneath her corset. She bent over into their sex drawer and came up with their nipple clamps.

Kenny bit his lip in anticipation. Bebe came right over to him and kissed him full on the mouth, then passed the clamps over to Wendy, who immediately attached them: they pinched first his left nipple, then his right, and Kenny groaned out loud. Wendy grabbed him by the hair and tugged until he was flat on his back. Bebe, who knelt beside him, had one of their riding crops in her hand and it snapped against one of his pecs. Kenny hissed in mingled surprise, pain and delight.

“Is this some kind of man-hating fantasy or something?” he quipped. Wendy sharply slapped him across the face. Holy shit. _That_ was hot. His cock twitched.

“Don’t be a dick.” Wendy’s tone was still controlled, but sultry, a little more husky and a little more quiet. She leaned over him to kiss Bebe, and this time it was passionate, but slow and tender: clearly _not_ the “girls making out at the club” kind of kiss. She wanted to show off, but not in the manner that this was fulfilling some kind of straight boy fantasy to watch lesbians go at it (not that Kenny was straight, anyway); Wendy wanted to show off that she had captured at least a portion of Bebe’s heart, and she wanted Kenny to know that she wasn’t planning on giving it back anytime soon. It was a wretchedly beautiful sight. He reached down to touch himself, but Bebe immediately stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“We didn’t say you could do that,” she said.

“Please, Mistress,” Kenny tried to sound as serious as possible. “Can I motorboat your tits?” This time it was Bebe who slapped him.

“No,” she said. “You’re never going to motorboat these. _Ever._ ” She straddled him and bent low, teased him with a _very_ sumptuous view of her cleavage, then pulled back when Kenny tilted his face forward. Goddamn, he was stinging, but it was fucking _worth_ it.

“Hm,” said Wendy, who was on the other side of him, merely observing. “I think you should slap him on the balls.” She tapped the riding crop to indicate just what should be used to accomplish that feat. “Ever use this?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bebe replied with a grin. “He hates that.” She knelt up beside him so that she could get access to his dick, pulled the flat of the crop back with her fingers, then let it snap forward against Kenny’s ballsack. A powerful sting shot through his tender skin and an even more intense ache. He yelped, embarrassingly high-pitched.

“That’s actually kind of cute,” said Wendy.

“Shit,” gasped Kenny. “Harlots, the both of you.”

“What the _fuck?_ ” — “You _dare?_ ” — Both of them at the same time. Kenny grinned, his tongue poking through his teeth. Wendy took the crop from Bebe and struck him again, first on the inner thigh and then his balls again.

“You’re lucky I can tell you’re playing,” she said, while tapping it against his balls over and over. Kenny’s eyes rolled back into his head and he tried to clamp his legs shut, but Wendy firmly fit herself between them. She flogged him on the cock next. “You want me to call you a naughty boy, don’t you? You’re not even worthy of that. In fact, you don’t get to address us at all. If you say one more word, you’re going to be sorry.” As she spoke to him, she poked and prodded at his dick with the crop, made it wiggle around obscenely. It fucking _hurt_ and it was incredible. Kenny bit down hard on his lip and squirmed around, gasped for breath, but there was a smile at the edge of his mouth.

“Should I do something?” asked Bebe. Kenny opened his eyes to look at her. She was still kneeling, but he thought he saw a very faint spot in the crotch of her panties. The thought of her pussy getting wet just from watching Wendy Testaburger abuse his cock made him fucking throb in a way that the crop wasn’t putting into him.

“You could kiss me again,” Wendy said seductively. She did. Kenny was on the verge of nutting already. This was a fucking dream come true for him. Or maybe he _was_ dreaming. No, if he was dreaming, he would just pray and hope that he’d never wake up. Keep him in limbo forever. He’d gladly have accepted a thousand deaths if it meant coming back to _this_ each and every time. “I’m not here to boss _you_ around, silly,” Wendy said when they came apart again. “We’re equals.” She kissed down along Bebe’s neck and lingered right at the curve of her neck and shoulder.

“We sure the fuck are,” Bebe replied, and let out a soft moan. Wendy lifted her mouth and she’d left a marking behind, a stain that had been suckled to the surface of her pretty skin. Kenny breathed out.

“Oh, is that not allowed? I can’t mark up your girlfriend?” Wendy smirked as she nuzzled into Bebe’s neck and kissed it some more. Kenny quickly shook his head, but the answer was _no, it’s perfectly fucking fine, give her as many hickies as you both want_ rather than _no, you’re not allowed._ It wasn’t clear which way Wendy took it until she laughed at him. “That’s just too bad,” she said. “I’m doing whatever she wants, and whatever _I_ want.” She was looking at Bebe when she said it, though, cooing at her as she ran her hands first over her soft breasts and then up and down the sides of the corset. Bebe was practically swooning and she leaned in to kiss Wendy, working up each other with quick passes of tongue.

“Sorry, honey,” Bebe told him, but the giggle that followed told Kenny that she wasn’t _really_ sorry, and he didn’t want her to be, anyway. He tried to sit up and Wendy stopped him halfway with a hand on his chest.

“What should we do with his ass?” she inquired, and tapped her chin. “A toy? Or should I put it on now?”

“Shit,” said Bebe. “I want to see it on you, but I don’t want this to be over so soon!”

“Me either,” Kenny blurted out. Shit indeed. Both of them looked at each other, and then Bebe turned her smoldering gaze upon him.

“I’m gonna gag you,” she said. “You weren’t supposed to be talking.”

“Very nice,” Wendy said with pleased approval. Bebe chuckled.

“It’s not like this is semi-regular for us or anything!” She pulled open the sex drawer again and rummaged through it. Kenny’s eyes were planted squarely on her ass. The tight panties had ridden up into her buttcrack just a little. Wendy caught him looking and came up behind her and squeezed her ass. Bebe purred and rolled her hips back.

“Enjoy looking at it while you can,” Wendy stated. “It’s my butt now.” Bebe actually laughed at that. She came up with a rubber plug with a wide, flared base and moved over to him again.

“Open up,” she said. But Kenny wasn’t going to yield to her _that_ easily. He raised his eyebrows but kept his mouth firmly closed. Bebe sharply slapped one of his cheeks and grabbed him by the jaw. “I said,” she repeated, her voice harder, “ _open up._ ” When he still didn’t, she looked over her shoulder at Wendy. “Where’s that crop?”

“I have it.” Wendy passed it over and watched, with her arms crossed, as Bebe drew it down the center of his chest. Then, she brought it up again and snapped against one of his tender pinched nipples. Kenny gasped sharply.

“There we go,” Bebe said. She struck him there again and when Kenny winced in pain, his lips parted, and she pried his mouth open further with her fingers. Then, she stuck the plug inside. “I hope you like your mouth being filled, honey,” she cheerfully stated. “If you’re good maybe I’ll gag you with my panties next.”

Kenny groaned in mingled frustration and want, muffled by the thing in his mouth, and scowled up at her. Bebe patted his cheek and ruffled his hair, then Wendy was embracing her from behind. She licked the side of her neck up to her ear. “I can’t decide if I want to watch him go down on you,” she said, “or do it myself.”

“Or we could do both!”

“Both,” Wendy repeated. “I like that idea.” Kenny grunted into the plug, knowing they couldn’t understand any protest he’d give, anyway. Or encouragement.

“Just let me take care of one thing,” said Bebe. Kenny groaned and tried to look as pathetic as possible when she took up the rope from their drawer and knelt astride him again. “Hands,” she ordered. Kenny shook his head and tried to push his arms behind his back, but Bebe was too quick for him. She grabbed one and pulled it over his chest. “Come on,” she said while gripping him tight between two hands. “You’re just gonna make it worse for yourself if you don’t!” Kenny dropped his gaze to her rack and lifted his other hand, made a grabbing motion for them. “ _No,_ ” Bebe reprimanded firmly, like she was scolding a dog.

After tying Kenny’s wrists together, leaving his arms in a ‘V’ shape against his upper body, Bebe grinned down at him and casually flipped her long, curly blonde hair over her shoulder. “We can’t have you doing something like jerking off and ruining everything!” As she spoke, she slid her body forward until she was hovering above Kenny’s face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wendy reach over and stroke her bare leg. “I bet you want this,” she teased him. “Don’t you?” Kenny’s vision was filled entirely with her thighs and the bright red silk of her underwear. She lowered her pelvis until her crotch brushed against his nose, and he could _smell_ her, and it was like fucking kryptonite.

“Doing this to you is making her pretty wet,” Wendy informed him, as if it weren’t obvious already. Her fingers entered his view and stroked down the material of her panties. They skimmed along the top as if to slip inside, but then she was drawing back and Bebe climbed off him.

“I changed my mind,” she said. “I’m eating _you_ out.” They kissed and she ran her hands over Wendy’s creamy skin; Kenny could tell it was soft just by _looking_ at her. Bebe kissed down her neck and he saw the flash of teeth between her red lips, over and over, and Wendy gasped and moaned each time, dragging her hands through Bebe’s golden hair. Bebe kissed the place right between her breasts, cupped them in her hands and then stroked down Wendy’s body until she came to her trousers. It didn’t take long at all for Wendy to be naked and straddling her lap, and Kenny stared at her while his groin ached and throbbed. She wasn’t as shapely and voluptuous as Bebe, but she had a cute little butt and he caught glimpses of the dark hair between her legs. She shaved her legs but clearly not her pussy, though it was trimmed and cropped close, and he wondered how she might taste. But that was all for Bebe, who eased her down onto her back and kissed down between her legs.

This, too, was not for his benefit. He was lucky enough to get a prime view of them, but in that moment Kenny might as well have not existed at all as Bebe nibbled and sucked Wendy’s thighs before pressing her face up between them. Wendy wasn’t even looking at him, only running her hands over Bebe’s shoulders and playing with her hair as she licked and kissed her. It was difficult to get a good view of the action between Wendy’s legs, between Bebe’s face buried in her and her long curls obstructing everything else. Instead, he found himself staring at Wendy’s body, at the way it arched up against her, the movements of her breasts and her arms. When Wendy clutched at Bebe’s shoulders and bucked up against her he could tell that it was getting _really_ hot down there and he grunted in annoyance, tried to crane his neck to see. They still didn’t acknowledge him. Still, even after Wendy came, and Bebe kept going on her until Wendy finally tugged at her hair and hauled her up for a searing kiss.

She was breathless, and she pushed her hand down between Bebe’s thighs to touch her panties again. Then she finally plunged her fingers past the material and from the way she sighed and bit her lip, Kenny could tell that Wendy was playing with her clit before she stroked her fingertips down further. For one strained, hopeful moment Kenny thought she would push her fingers up inside of her, but instead she pinched the delicate silk between her fingers and pulled them down Bebe’s legs. Bebe reached down to unclip her stockings, shifted so her panties slid off her ankles and then, without even _looking_ in Kenny’s direction, reached out and dropped them directly onto his face. He could smell her on them and it drove him crazy all over again, though it was maddening not to be able to see as well. Quite literally he was seeing red.

“Make sure he keeps those there.” Kenny heard the sounds of Wendy getting up, voice floating back over to the bed as she padded across the room and rummaged around in their closet. Bebe must have told her at some point what things were in there. But when?

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Bebe panted. “You look _so_ hot!”

“I know.” She crossed the room and Kenny felt her hands on his knees, then his legs spread apart. “I _was_ going to show you how I’m way better at pleasing your girlfriend then you are,” Wendy said, and it wasn’t until the end of that sentence that Kenny realized she was talking to _him._ He let out a frustrated huff through his nose and jerked his hips when Wendy’s fingertips traced his cock. “But I think that’s a little much for our first time.”

Bebe’s fingers brushed against his face. He quickly realized it wasn’t a loving caress; she was spreading the panties out so that they covered _everything._ Now he definitely couldn’t see. Kenny made a displeased groan, and Bebe just laughed beside him. “If you’re good and don’t let those move,” she said, “I’ll gag you with them.”

“Does he need to be fingered first?” he heard Wendy ask.

 _No! I don’t need to be fingered!_ Kenny’s words came out all muffled and garbled, though. _Just fuck me!_ Bebe snickered beside him.

“That was cute,” Wendy said. “Did he just try to speak?”

“He sure did.” His nipples were tugged by way of the clamps, and he groaned. “Which we didn’t say he could do yet. I have a better idea, anyhow.” Her fingers brushed underneath the silk and touched his lips, straining and spread around the plug, before grabbing it and pulling free. Drool dripped down his chin, but he didn’t care. It felt so, _so_ much better.

“Fuck,” he gasped out. “Holy f—” Those few precious seconds were all he was afforded, though, because the panties went right in: first the portion that had been draped over his mouth, and then more of it, and more, wadded up and successfully stuffing his mouth full again. But this was way, _way_ better than before. His teeth pressed into the silk and he could taste her scent all over it and Jesus, could he get any harder? His dick actually _hurt_ at that point. It also finally allowed him a view of Wendy between his legs, as Bebe picked them up and hoisted them up over her shoulders. He couldn’t see the dildo itself, but he caught glimpses of the leather straps on her hips and ass. His butt flexed in anticipation. Bebe was slathering lube onto the toy beside him. It was thick enough to hold his mouth open _and_ stuff it, and it would be up his asshole next. _Fucking bring it,_ he thought, as precum oozed down his dick.

They did; Wendy took it in hand and twisted it up against his ass, corkscrewed the damn thing right up into his body. “Get up,” she said, after reaching over to untie his hands. “Hands and knees.” He did.

And then Bebe flogged the shit out of him, and eventually Wendy took the plug out only to replace it with her thick sparkly purple dildo, and Bebe ripped the panties out of his mouth and shoved his face up against her so he could get his ass rammed and eat her out at the same time. Then she jerked him off with her panties and they crashed the fuck out, then got brunch the following morning in a symbolic scene that meant Wendy was in it for at _least_ longer than a single hookup. But this author is exhausted already from writing all this craziness, and will have to elaborate on it another day. Stay gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played myself. :(
> 
> Yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	7. Day 07 - Praise Kink (Kenny/Craig)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig and Kenny have make-up sex, after they fought over a certain side of Kenny's identity that morning. Kenny reminds him what being a big flaming homosexual is really all about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the sex aftermath of a [drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13758723/chapters/31704396) I wrote back in February for the Drabble Bomb. However, this can be read on its own. Yes, I know quality makeup doesn’t actually come off that easily, but let me have my gross fantasy of slutty lip marks on Craig’s skin. :P
> 
> Also, just noting here that I use female pronouns for Kenny because it's from his point of view and he personifies his feminine side in that regard. He is not actually trans and this is not fetishization.
> 
> Also I changed the name of the whole anthology. You're welcome.

They didn’t exchange a lot of words on the way back to their shared apartment, but that tended to be par for the course with them. Kenny had the visor down and kept staring at herself in the mirror, a pleased little grin on her face. Craig’s gaze remained firm on the road, but she caught him rolling his eyes at one point, and in response she reached out to rest a well-manicured hand on his thigh.

“Almost home, sweetheart,” she lilted. Craig reached down and took her hand, silently extracted her from his leg, but she saw the way he exhaled and she could have sworn there was a delicate flush spreading over his handsome cheekbones. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking, projected onto him by her own memories of how he’d get in the heat of the moment. She was fully ready to break him apart, and if he honestly thought she didn’t mean every word of what she planned to do with him…

“Shut up,” Craig finally said, and that was when he put the car in park.

To Kenny’s credit, she did. At least, until they ascended the stairs and got inside. Craig barely had time to drop his keys into the little marbled glass dish on the mantelpiece before she pressed both hands against his chest and backed him into their closed door. Craig actually made like he was _trying_ to get away, the little shit. She braced an arm against his collar and leaned in close. She could still smell the spearmint on his breath, the mingled aromas of his cologne and aftershave. “Do you really think I’m gonna let you go anywhere?”

“Christ,” Craig muttered under his breath. Kenny’s hands were on him again; she smoothed them down the grey silk of his shirt, trailed her fingertips across the blue lilies and wondered, briefly, which part of them brought out his eyes most. Then she took hold of the collar on either side. Craig gripped both of her wrists in his hands and held tight. “It’s a $300 shirt,” he said. When Kenny, a smile playing across her mouth, ignored him and made like she was going to rip the thing open anyway, he tightened his hold and said more firmly, “it’s a _$300_ shirt.”

“Bitch,” Kenny replied. She pressed her mouth up against his throat and licked, bit, suckled at the skin as her fingers made deft work of the buttons until the shirt fell open against Craig’s slim, tanned chest. When she lifted her head she saw his eyes were closed and she delved in for his mouth, kissing him hard and scratching her nails right down his chest. The hiss that fell against her lips was positively divine. It was actually Craig who took his shirt off the rest of the way and casually tossed it over onto the couch; naturally, Kenny’s eyes followed. The lamp from earlier still sat in a sad shattered pile of turquoise-coloured porcelain, and the shards caught the light, and she contemplated forcing him to bend over and clean up the remnants of his stupid untethered rage but this was better. This was better, anyway. Kenny reached for his belt and undid it, then smeared her lips down his throat, licked at the lines of his fine bones and purposefully dragged her mouth over his chest to leave a trail of glistening pink behind. She pressed a firm kiss to his nipple and grinned at the ghostly lip-mark she put there.

“How much does _this_ cost?” she asked him, as she pulled the belt out through the loops of Craig’s pants.

“Shut up,” Craig griped in reply. “Just shut up.” He reached down in the instinct to tangle his fingers into Kenny’s hair but stopped short when they grazed the fibers of her golden wig instead. Kenny reached up and slapped him away before letting the belt drop to the floor.

“Not yet,” she scolded him. “Not yet. Pretty sure I told you when you could get rid of it.” When Craig let his hand fall limply to his side, she kissed over the lines of his ribs and prompted with a wink, “well? When did I say?” It was phrased like a question, not a command, but her hand came down and squeezed his inner thigh, and that was the order. Craig hitched his legs further apart.

“When…” he swallowed hard, “when you take me in your mouth.”

“All verbatim and shit,” Kenny said. “Very good. You’re so good, honey.” She brushed her tongue over his navel and watched it suck in beautifully, not that he had a lot to disappear in the first place. “And I will, I’ll suck your dick soon, but I said I was gonna appreciate your body first. And I’m gonna do that a little more, and you’re gonna like it.” She reached up and pinched one of his nipples, rolled it between her fingers and then scratched it with her strong nails, and felt Craig shiver beneath her. “That’s it,” she cooed at him. “You’re so sweet, look so sweet. It makes my dick hard when you’re sweet like this.”

“Okay,” Craig said, a little dumbly. Kenny snorted and made like she was chuckling demurely into the back of her wrist.

“Just ‘okay’?” she asked, still tormenting his tender nipple with her fingers. They were replaced with her mouth, her tongue. “Just ‘okay’?” she repeated.

“No,” Craig answered, and braced a hand on the small of her back. A low moan escaped him. It was the first crack of many and she was looking forward to completely breaking him to pieces. He always fell apart on her—his—cock. _No matter who I am,_ she’d said earlier, before they left.

“Yeah,” Kenny murmured up against his skin. “I know you. I know how you get. So easy, you’re very sweet but you’re also so easy. Just a few touches and you’re just putty in my hands, aren’t ya?” As she spoke she ran her hands along Craig’s ribs, kissed the lean lines of his chest and traced them with her lips. Next time, she thought, she’d wear red. Craig’s torso was already covered in smears of wet sugary pink and the hot pink lines from her nails, the little marks left behind when she dug her teeth in. “Take the rest of it off,” she said. “I wanna see how more easy you are. So _good_ and so easy, just for me.”

Craig released a breath and reached down without protest, unbuttoned and unzipped, pushed everything down to his ankles. She kind of liked how deliciously disheveled he looked, and almost lamented the loss of his shirt. His shoes were still on and they stopped everything. Kenny decided she wanted it that way, at least for now. Craig dropped his hands to his sides. He seemed conflicted about something. Kenny didn’t know—or care—what. She knelt between his legs and closed her mouth around one of his hipbones, sucked at it until he squirmed. “I bet you want my cock already,” she said when she lifted her mouth from him again. More candy stains on his skin. “It’s a shame I can’t put my fingers in you.”

“I—” Craig sucked in another hiss when she dragged her nails over his inner thighs, and Kenny reveled in the way they were quaking, just a little. “I can handle it.”

“I’m putting my mouth on you first,” replied Kenny. She caught his dick in her hand and kissed it, let her tongue flick out over the swollen tip and teased the place under the ridge of it. Craig leaned his head back against the door with a little _thump,_ but he didn’t flinch from the impact. “Look at that.” Her tone was appreciative. “You’re so hard already, baby.” She sucked lightly at the head and then brought him inside on her tongue. Craig whined in that impatient way of his and she pulled her mouth off to bite one of his thighs. “I am a _lady,_ ” Kenny scolded him. “And I’m gonna blow you like one.”

“No you aren’t,” bitched Craig. “I’m not into ladies.” A sharp laugh came from Kenny.

“You are now, asshole.” She wrapped her hand around his dick and rubbed her thumb along the bottom, stroked all the way up and ran her tongue over the head again. Then she took him in a second time, but it was far less tentative. Craig’s fingers were on her head and when she swallowed him down he arched forward, a breathy little noise escaped him. Her hands went right behind him, lewdly squeezed his ass and he responded by gripping her wig and tugging. It didn’t seem like he was trying to dislodge it anymore, only that it was a reaction, and it made her smile. He might’ve been covered with clean, artificial scents when they were on the same level but down between his thighs, she could only breathe in sex, and taste sex, and the way he gripped at her was like raw sex, too. She brought her hand down and shoved it under her skirt, rubbed at her own cock through the silk of her panties. It almost made her wish they were headed for the bedroom so she could force him to watch her lift it and mount his dick, let it fall over their sick evil act like a modest curtain, but Kenny already had plans for him.

Craig had tugged and yanked on the wig so much in his passion that it was crooked, dislodged. Kenny chuckled and reached up to push it off. Craig’s fingers twisted themselves in the stocking cap underneath and he seemed momentarily thrown off his game—not that he was really on it in the first place—but he got the thing off and one of the bobby pins went flying but Kenny didn’t care. The warmth of Craig’s hands on her scalp, messing up her hair and actually _feeling_ every bit of it, was far more worth it. She didn’t have to tell him to pull her hair because he already was, and he tried to fuck her mouth too, holy shit _that_ was cute, she dipped a hand down into his ass crack and delicately but dangerously traced the ring of muscle there with one of her long nails. It immediately tensed up and she heard him gasp.

“Yeah,” Kenny said between bobs of her head and strokes of tongue, “be a fucking gentleman—for once. I know that’s _so_ hard for you.”

“Be nice again,” Craig huffed above her. “I liked it when you were nice.”

“Oh,” and Kenny gave one final, slutty slurp on him before she pulled back and daintily wiped her mouth. “I can be nice, baby. Doesn’t mean I won’t call you out when it’s necessary.” Her gaze swept over his shaking thighs and his knees, which knocked together a little, his legs could only open so far with the way they were trapped. And she needed them to be open, wide open. Kenny stood up. “Couch,” she said, and pointed. Craig bit his lip and surveyed the state of the living room; it seemed that he, too, caught sight of the lamp he’d broken earlier in the midst of his pathetic tantrum. It was subtle, but Kenny could always tell when he was feeling guilty. She took him by the shoulder and half-guided, half-shoved him toward the sofa. Craig stumbled along the way and she grabbed him by the hips and maneuvered him. He offered up no protest at all at being bent over it. She thought about slapping his ass for good measure but decided against it, and instead stooped to yank off first one shoe and throw it across the room, then the other, then the rest of his clothing.

“How much was all of that?” she asked him in a sugary tone.

“It—”

“Ah-ah.” Kenny reached around to press her fingers against his mouth. If he could taste his own dick on them, even better. “Don’t speak, my sweet. I want to hear that mouth do better things.” She reached for her pocketbook and fished out the lubricant she’d put in there, because that had been part of her plan, too. “I was going to fuck you all along,” she told him, after coming around to his side. Craig turned his head to watch her and she smirked, lifted up her skirt and the fluffy tulle underneath with a swishing flourish so he could see her hard cock underneath. “But I want your head under here. You’re very good and I’m sure you’ll earn the right to get it somehow.”

Craig’s mouth was sweet around her, and he tangled one of his hands in her clothes, but Kenny batted it away. The skirt fell down around his head. “Yes, sweet baby,” her voice had fallen to a husky whisper, “just like that. Suck my cock baby, keep going. Yes, that’s so good. _So_ good…” Craig made a quiet noise of appreciation around her and she affectionately scratched the back of his neck. “You like that? Yeah? You’re so good at it, your mouth is so good, you take it so good. You love my cock, don’t you?”

“ _Mm-hmm._ ”

“Let’s hear you say it,” Kenny said, and pulled herself free of him. “Let’s hear you say it now, because I know you won’t be able to later.” She chuckled and cupped his jaw in hand. “I know how you get. You won’t be able to later.”

“I love your cock,” Craig said quietly, and kissed the palm of her hand.

“I don’t think I heard you, pretty boy. Let’s try that again.”

“I love your cock,” he repeated, in a normal volume this time, and Kenny loved to work him up to the point of shouting it, too. But it was enough for them today, she didn’t need to drag it out further, because she was going to fuck him hard and he was going to take it and they both knew that. She walked around behind him while lubing herself up.

“Spread your legs,” she told him. He did. “Wider, baby. As wide as you can.” There wouldn’t be any build-up this time. Craig wanted her inside him from the moment she crossed the threshold of his workplace and she fucking knew it. Maybe it had taken him a moment to realize it, but she knew it all along, because she knew him. The thick head of her cock nudged up between his cheeks and she felt along there until there was the give of his hole, and she drizzled more lube out until it slipped inside. Craig moaned beneath her. “That’s good,” she purred, and eased her hips forward in shallow thrusts that filled him more and more. Tight, clenching heat was all around her and she could feel his ass spasm around her dick. She touched the small of his back and caressed it in slow circles.

“You can take it,” she said. “Your sweet ass can take it. Take it for me, baby.” Craig was already groaning into the couch and squirming, pushing his ass back for it even as his body tried to fight against it. “I can tell how badly you need it. You needed it all day, even when you were mad at me, didn’t you?” Craig just sort of nodded, his face buried into the cushions. “Poor darling,” she cooed at him. “But we’re here now, and you’re taking my cock, you’re doing so good already. So good, baby, that’s it. Are you still mad at me?” Craig rapidly shook his head, and a choked moan escaped his throat, almost like a sob. “Of course you’re not.” Kenny stroked his hair. “Of course you’re not.”

She took him that way until she made it all the way inside, among little murmurs of _that’s it_ and _take it for me, baby_ . That was always the best part of bending him over; she could watch every move between them, every excited little twitch of his ass, every bit of her cock as it disappeared inside him, and he could take it all in, it was the best position to take it all in. “There you go,” she breathed out. “There it is. All of me in you, look at how well you take it, just for me.” She hiked her skirt up further and gathered it up, pushed as much of it back behind her as she could. This was a shot worthy of a camera, a fucking money shot, her cock sliding in and out of his open ass with the frilly skirt framing them together. Kenny made a mental note to do this again someday with her phone in her hand. But now, _now,_ there was just this. “Yeah, fuck,” she groaned in her throat, low and guttural. “Fuck, baby. I meant what I said, I’ll give it to you hard, you’re always so good at taking it hard.”

Just as she’d said before, that he wouldn’t be able to form any words, Craig was there already. He could do nothing but moan back at her, pleading and soft, and Kenny leaned over to stroke his hair. “That’s good,” she breathed, working her hips in slow pulls. “There’s my good boy. Tell me again, tell me how you love my cock.”

“I—” He was trying. Kenny could give him that much credit. “I— I lo— _ohhh…_ ” The way he came apart so beautifully always drove Kenny out of her—his—fucking mind. She rewarded his efforts with one long hard stroke that sent her all the way back inside again, and Craig cried out.

“Yeah,” she panted, and circled her hips, pulled back again, and forward. Her hands were on his hips and she was working his ass real good, skirts rustling between them, the scrape of Craig’s fingers across the ruddy leather of their couch. He always hated that thing. He said it looked tacky. It was much less so when he was spread across it getting railed into oblivion, though. “So good, just like that. So good, just like that…” Craig whimpered something that sounded like it might have been a word, but she couldn’t quite make it out. “What, sweetie?” she asked as she bent forward again. “What do you want, baby?”

“ _Fuck me,_ ” Craig whined out, into the leather. Kenny thought she would come apart herself just hearing it.

“I’ll fuck you, baby,” she whispered. “Yeah, I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck you hard.” She did; she did give it to him hard, fierce little slams of her hips that slapped into him over and over and over. Craig’s broken cries goaded her on, and she goaded him on, too, letting whatever came up on her tongue fall between her lips. _All of it, all of it, it’s all in you, yes baby, so good. Take it all up your ass, it’s yours, it’s for you, all yours, all yours._ She didn’t want it to end. She wanted to stay like this forever, just meld his goddamn ass to her dick, she didn’t even care, it was that blissful. Kenny slowed her movements when she felt the pressure mount in her balls and decided to enjoy the view a little longer. His muscles all clung to her at once and she pulled all the way out just to listen to him sob and watch the throb of his asshole, open and waiting. She buried herself to the hilt again.

“I wanna come on your pretty ass,” she growled out, “but I wanna feel it fucking squeezing me as I fill you up with my come, too.” At that, Craig just whimpered and squirmed. “What’s that, baby?” she teased him between breaths, taking up her pace again of piercing him in long, deep thrusts. “You’re doing so good, my sweet baby. I wish you could see how good you look. You’re so lovely, so pretty. Maybe even prettier than me.” Kenny laughed quietly to herself. Craig couldn’t speak. She knew he couldn’t speak. “So which is it?” she asked anyway. “Which one do you want?”

“ _Ih—_ _in—_ ”

“What?” Kenny chuckled. “Want it all over your ass?” Craig whined and frantically shook his head. Kenny leaned forward. “In your ass?” Craig nodded fiercely. His hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his temples and forehead, his face flushed and shining and his eyes shut, lip twisted between his teeth. He was gorgeous. “You want that, baby?” Kenny dropped her voice into another husky purr. “You want me to come in your ass? Want your ass filled with my come?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Craig managed to gasp out. Kenny reared back and pulled back her skirt again, lifted it up enough so that she could catch the end of it in her teeth. That afforded her a great view, too, as she fucked into him for those final moments until her orgasm coursed through her, and she knew Craig could feel it, too, at least the heat of it spilling into him.

“Fuck yes,” Kenny groaned out. “Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes. Oh, _fuck._ ” When the flood left her only to be replaced by a cloudy, sweet relief, she molded herself to Craig’s back with her elbows digging in on either side of him. Craig was shaking hard beneath him. “Now you,” Kenny murmured. “Now you, fuckin’ coat this couch in your cum, baby. Get it all over this nasty leather.” Craig didn’t need to be told twice; he arched his pelvis up and reached down and gripped himself. “I’m not leaving you until you do,” Kenny added. “That’s my cock still in you. Feel that?”

“Uh-huh,” Craig panted, as he jerked off.

“Good, I’d stay in you forever if I could. You want me in here forever too? Because you’re so sweet and your ass is so perfect, you’re fucking gorgeous and I could just live in your ass, just like this.” Kenny ran a hand over Craig’s side and Craig grunted with exertion beneath her. Even though she was sinking down into flaccidity, Kenny still rolled her hips, let her cock messily play against Craig’s insides. “But I gotta eventually,” she whispered. “And then all of it’s gonna come out, you’re gonna drip all this cum out your ass. I want it all over the couch. Next time you get mad at me, I’ll just lick the damn couch when I jerk off.”

Craig seized up beneath her. Kenny knew it was time. “Let’s see you come now,” she encouraged him. “Let’s see you come for me. C’mon, baby.” He moaned and jacked on himself fast as it came pulsing out of him. Kenny took the opportunity to extract herself then, and the stimulation of her sliding out his hole in his most vulnerable moment made Craig cry out and jerk forward. Kenny watched his asshole squeeze shut, even as the motion sent the pearly-white fluid trickling out of him. She gave his ass a final pat and stood up. The skirt fell haphazardly around her.

“You did a good job today,” she stated. “I’m very proud of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me on [Tumblr](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com) if you wanna!


	8. Day 08 - Blood/Gore & Angry Sex (Tweek/Kenny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek has suffered the burden of knowledge for far too long, and one night when he finds Kenny attempting to _take_ one of his own countless lives instead of having them ripped away, he finally snaps.
> 
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> 
> ( **Applicable Tags:** Angry Sex, Temporary Character Death, Blood and Gore, Knifeplay, Angst, Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty dark and gruesome, maybe not as dark and gruesome as I initially set out to be, but either way, don't read if you have a weak stomach and/or can't handle angsty shit.

It’s chilly out, not the kind of godforsaken cold that slices through his skin like icy knives—even if he can handle it, or he thinks he can handle it, he’s handled much more anyway so why not?—but there’s enough to cover his skin in a bas-relief of goosebumps, and yet it’s not enough to stop the fire-hot anger that spreads from somewhere in the center of his back and runs scorching all the way up into the back of his neck. Tweek’s fingers curl, uncurl, wind themselves up tight into the pinhole-burnt, threadbare fabric of Kenny’s coat, and as soon as he can find his breath again, he’s screaming right into his fucking face.

“You _son-of-a-bitch!_ ” His voice is high-pitched from hysteria. “You _fucking asshole!_ What the _fuck_ was that?! What the _fuck_ were you _thinking?!_ ” It’s on the last word that he actually drags the two of them up close and _shakes_ him, hard, he actually watches Kenny’s brow furrow and his eyes squeeze shut from the sheer volume of it, and—good. _Good,_ let him be the frightened animal for once, the prey here, not like other people, who have to walk and march and toil _day by fucking day_ and this piece of shit, this guy who says he’s _unlucky,_ gets to check out of it all whenever he wants…

“Not like I thought you’d find me here,” Kenny finally says. Tweek brings back his fist, and _slams_ it, right in the middle of his pretty goddamn face, did he break something? Would he ever break apart, anyway? Tweek’s arms are a mess. They’re covered in grit and traces of blood from where he scraped them on the ground after he fell, because as skinny and underfed as Kenny was he still wasn’t prepared for the full weight of him, and he fell, they both fell, and he’s already bruised and cut open and once _again,_ Kenny has the fucking privilege of feeling nothing.

At least, until this very second. Tweek’s knuckles throb from the impact and through the dark, he thinks he can see a trace of blood on Kenny’s lip where he _hopes_ he fucking split it. Kenny’s tongue darts out and licks up whatever it is. Watching it, this careless act of his like all the others, just fuels him further. Tweek squeezes his hand around Kenny’s windpipe and watches, in blooming satisfaction, as he chokes. His throat flutters under his hand. “You wanna fuckin’ _leave?_ ” he spits. “Think you can just _check out,_ go somewhere else, go to the great beyond whenever you fuckin’ feel like it?” Kenny’s lips part and he screams, “ _No!_ ” right in his face, again, cuts him off, and— “ _I_ had to clean up the last time! And the time before that! And _before that!_ You wanna fuckin’ leave, spill your guts and _shit_ and whatever else is left inside you all over the fuckin’ place and _no one ever believes me,_ think I’m gonna keep takin’ it?! A goddamn _train!_ A train, that’s your fucking ride this time, that’s your ticket to Heaven, or—or fucking purgatory, you wanna go to purgatory, Kenny? That’s where people like you go, all this time, you’re a _fuckin’_ liar—”

He cuts himself off there with a hysterical, high-pitched laugh, and Kenny’s just calm and quiet in the face of it all, because Tweek knows he’s heard it all before. And that’s the painful part. He’s heard it all before, and he just—

Doesn’t.

_Care._

A train. It was a motherfucking _train_ this time. Kenny cuts him a line and goes out like he’s gonna piss behind a tree and instead when he doesn’t come back, and Tweek expects to find him shitting in the woods, he’s on the fucking _tracks_ and the light’s in the distance, and then it’s not, and it’s just like one of those stupid movies where you’re stuck and it’s still _coming_ and then there’s the loud blaring horn and he doesn’t _hear_ you, he pretends he doesn’t, and then you’re scraping the fuck out of your skin pulling him right off and he’s not even mad. He laughs at you. Like it’s a game and there’s no fucking stakes whatsoever. He laughs at you.

He’s not laughing now, though. Tweek presses in hard, feels it beneath his hand and strangles it like he’s done on the guy’s cock many times before, and if he focuses hard enough he can feel the throb that runs through in the same way. And Kenny doesn’t even struggle. He could crush his windpipe if he really wanted to—couldn’t he? And that’s what he’d like. Tweek shoves a thigh between his and feels the rock-hard erection that presses back against him. With a snarl, he releases him, and Kenny coughs hard. “Did you _see_ it?” Tweek’s back to screaming in his face. “ _Did you fucking see it?_ Did you get the white light this time, or was it just black?! Were you gonna be saved, did I turn into a _fucking angel_ for you _this_ time?!”

“Yeah,” Kenny says, and brings a hand down to rub at his throat. He’s still coughing a little. “You always are.”

“ _Fuck_ you!” Tweek stomps his foot against the dirt. “Fuck you, I’m not anything, I’m not—I’m _not!_ ” Damn it all, he swore he wouldn’t cry, he _always_ does, but there they are again. They prick at his lashes and sting his eyes, but at least he can make sure they don’t _fall_ and he does, scrubs a fist over them until they’re lost in the back of his hand. He was gone for over two weeks last time. Two weeks where Tweek sat in a fucking limbo of bruises and hands worked raw and bleeding. _You know that Kenny,_ they always say. _He’s always up to something._ And then he returns and it’s like nothing happened at all. _He was here the whole time,_ they insist. _What are you on? Are you feeling okay? Maybe you need more_

_SLEEP._

Kenny’s got his hands on his face and he’s kissing him and Tweek can still taste the blood on his tongue. He fucking _sobs_ into his mouth and immediately wants to kick him for it, because it’s his fault. _His_ fault. And he does, he kicks out like an animal thrashing in its trap, and Kenny stumbles but does not fall. His hand squeezes Tweek’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be sad, Tweeky boy,” he says. “I always come back, don’t I? I always come back.”

“I’m not _sad,_ ” Tweek spits back at him. Then he’s snarling, throwing himself upon him, shoving him backwards. Maybe he can fall right back onto the tracks and Tweek can watch another speeding train come by and lop his fool head clean off. Would they even stop? Tweek wouldn’t, and he won’t save him again. “ _I’m not sad!_ ” he hollers in full force, and advances on him. “I’m _angry!_ I’m _fucking pissed!_ ” He slugs him in the face again. Kenny lets him. He grabs him and shouts right into his face. Kenny lets him. “ _I_ don’t get to check out! _I_ still gotta be here! _I_ don’t get oblivion! _I—_ ” The next blow’s his ribs, and Kenny lets him. “ _—I_ have to _live!_ ” Another strike, he pummels him in the chest. Then the stomach. Kenny coughs like he’s in pain. _Good._ “ _I have to_ **_live!_** ” And if he could break his ribs apart with just his knuckles, Tweek would. He’s fueled by adrenaline and a raw, animalistic rage that seizes him until he’s thrown Kenny to the ground and then he’s on him, straddling him, he’s going to beat his face in. Kenny just snorts back the blood that’s dripping from his nose and grabs Tweek on the small of his back. He _fucking_ kisses Tweek again, and grinds up against him, and Tweek’s grinding back, but it won’t be good enough for them. Not this time.

“You need to _learn,_ ” he sobs out, and his hands leave bloody prints on the front of Kenny’s jacket—it must be Kenny’s, because Kenny’s not fighting him back, right? But how much of his own blood has he lost over this bastard? “You wanna go? You wanna fucking disappear? Think you can just _skip the world_ like none of this shit ever happened and I’ll just… I’ll just…” But he does. He always does. They’re trapped in this fucking Hell together, one with the curse and one with the knowledge. One who gets to be crazy and one who gets to be anything and everything he wants. “It’s just a _bender,_ ” he laughs. “Just a bender, just, just a vacation, just a fucking _nothing,_ you are _nothing to me!_ You’re nothing and you’re gonna see how it feels to be nothing.”

“Tweek—”

“ _No!_ ” he screams again. It’s that tone, that _tone,_ you’re being ridiculous, you’re overreacting, you’re doing that thing again where you get all crazy and no one, no one _ever_ believes you, stop making shit up, Tweek. There’s nothing around that corner. There’s nothing lurking in the backyard. There’s no shadow, there’s no specter, there’s nothing there but _your own imagination._ Those bruises on your back, you fell out of bed, remember? Those rings around your eyes, you had night terrors, remember?

That iron band around your heart, squeezing, _squeezing_ until you can’t breathe, that’s just your imagination. It’s not _real,_ you’re not dying, you’re just _crazy._

“Howaretheyableto _believeyou!_ ” It’s one long sputter, and he’s digging in his pocket, fishing, _where is it_ ah, right there and he flicks the blade to life. It’s stiff in his hands and he contemplates for one moment just stroking his palm _hard_ over the length of it so his skin will split open, and that’s how Tweek will know it’s still sharp enough, but instead he drags it in a lazy stroke along Kenny’s cheek and watches his eyes flutter. A swifthard _strike_ and now there’s blood, dark and red just like whatever mess has pooled in the dip between his nose and mouth, it beads and wells and trickles down the side of his face like tears. There isn’t even any terror. Tweek would be shaking in his boots were he on the other end, but Kenny will just lie down quietly, and that’s not what _prey_ is supposed to do.

“They don’t,” is what he thinks he hears. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking. Tweek bends in and licks along Kenny’s cheek until it’s all over his tongue, bright and sharp and everything smells like— _pennies,_ that was his better thought the first time, and then the second time _I know that smell,_ and all the other times and now, it’s just _Kenny._ Cutting his thumb, skinning his knee, biting his lip too hard, it all tastes and smells like _Kenny._ And now, in this moment that’s just cracked between them, forever, like an eggshell, split and burst wide open, Tweek has the thought of slicing him _open_ from neck to intestines and just wrapping himself up in there like one of those weird horror manga he caught Kenny jerking it to once. If he did, would Kenny even take him? The cells don’t all burn out at once, do they?

“You wanna die,” Tweek finally chokes out, laughing through his tears, “you wanna _fucking die,_ fine. _Fine!_ Fucking rot in the _ground!_ You’ll dissolve _all around me_ and, and I’ll fucking wait, I’ll wake up beside you _just like all the other times!_ ” But it won’t be like all the others. Not this. He’s never gone this far, not _this_ far, and Kenny’s got that dull look in his eyes like he expected this one day. Like he knew this would happen one day. “Congratulations on your fucking _prophecy,_ then, Kenny! What’s the fucking frequency _now,_ huh?”

Kenny doesn’t say anything, not even when the blade slides through his clothes like butter. Not even when they’re carved to ribbons in a way that he will be, he _must_ know he will be. Tweek peels the strips from him one by one and lays them first side by side, then crossing over, a lattice there in the dirt. He can hear Kenny’s deep, shuddering breaths. Somehow, he doesn’t buy that he’s in pain. It’s too practiced; too controlled. Tweek steadily rolls his hips forward and hears the stutter in Kenny’s laboured breathing. Good for him. _Good for him._ “I’ll fuck you, man,” Tweek tells him. “I’m gonna fuck you, and, and then you’ll see, ever fuckin’ die with someone’s dick inside you? Huh?”

“Yeah.” Kenny’s tongue flicks out between his lips. His eyes stare straight into Tweek’s face. “I have. It’s great.”

“It’s _great!_ ” Tweek echoes him. He’s already scrabbling between them, yanking down Kenny’s pants and grabbing at his dick. It’s hard and hot and full in his hand, and Tweek smears his fingers in whatever’s left on Kenny’s face to coat his grip before returning and holding it tight, rubbing hard. Kenny exhales and lifts up into his touch. He doesn’t turn away, barely even blinks. “ _It’s great!_ ” Tweek repeats, and the blade is on Kenny’s forehead, he briefly thinks about what it’d be like to _scalp_ him but the thought makes him shudder, bile rising in his throat. He has a strong stomach, he’s gotta after all these years from drinking down coffee like it’s water, but he’s not like Kenny. There’s still a lot that will get to him. Instead he just carves a line there on his brow and presses his lips to it, licks along it as sweetly as an animal licking its wounds, and Kenny doesn’t fight him. His cock throbs in Tweek’s grip. He won’t castrate him either, but the thought’s crossed his mind—many times.

“It’s great.”

“ _Great,_ ” Tweek spits back at him. “What about someone who _loves_ you? What about someone who _loves you?_ ”

“No,” Kenny replies as coolly as if he’d just been asked where he’d been, who he’d been with, questions Tweek long since stopped asking. “No, not yet.”

“I hope you _fucking_ enjoy it, you _prick!_ ” he shrieks back at him. “Enjoy it! I’m gonna rip you apart! I’m gonna break your ribs, one by one! I’m gonna rip your fucking heart out! I’m gonna _come inside you_ and you’re gonna feel _everything_ before… _before…_ ” Tweek winds his hands up into his hair and pulls at it, screams something even he can’t figure out, and then Kenny’s tugging him close and kissing him hard, _so_ hard this time, they’re both hard. Tweek practically tears his pants off as he kisses and sucks and _bites_ at Kenny’s mouth, if he had the stomach for it he’d tear his tongue right off and swallow it, but that’s too much, too. How can anyone do this? All he wants is the warmth of his blood running over his hands, like he’s a child again and he’s just shoved them into the stream, but that water’s cold and Kenny’s always so impossibly _hot_ against him. He is now, too, when Tweek tries to yank his tattered jeans down and gets stopped by his shitty boots, one of them’s falling apart and his toe’s sticking out. _Just gonna put on my hobo boots,_ Kenny told him. _That means I’ll be back in a minute. Why would I wanna die in my stupid fucking hobo boots?_

Tweek tears the blade through one leg cuff, then the other, and rips them, the noise tears through the air too as the fibers split apart and he can slide them right off Kenny’s legs and feet. He can keep the boots on. They’ll go away into thin air anyway, he’s sure. Kenny never came home in anything he wore when he vanished and Tweek’s never found them. He can only surmise they’re gone forever, the light just cuts through Kenny’s body and absorbs it into energy, him and everything on his person. Will he go away, too, if he’s inside him? Is that how it works? “I’m gonna gut you,” Tweek cries, and pulls Kenny’s skinny legs around him, feels the familiar brush of his curly blond leg hair and the even crisper curls at the base of his shaft as it brushes against him. “You’re lucky I don’t wanna cut it off, I’ll cut the rest of you off, just, _shit!_ I need more, _haah,_ I… I need more. I need more!” Tweek drags the edge of the knife across the base of Kenny’s throat like a sickle, over his clavicles, it’s just skin and tendon that he cuts through, nothing major, but it’s still enough to drip out onto his fingers. Kenny groans but doesn’t put up a struggle, and Tweek coats his fingers in it, reaches down and drives them into Kenny’s body, then it’s his cock next and he completely fucking buries himself.

“Ever taste your own blood?” Tweek asks him. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Kenny just nods and Tweek’s hand is on his mouth. He hears the low sigh in his throat and Kenny’s tongue on him, warm and wet and sweet like he’s not about to get the violation of a fucking lifetime. The muscles in him practically writhe around Tweek’s cock and Tweek rocks his hips, panting for breath, gasping, still indulgent when it comes to the little shockwaves of pleasure that shoot through him and buzz all the way down into his thighs. Every time his pelvis collides with Kenny’s ass he grunts with exertion, and he knows he’s already getting sweaty, can tell with the way Kenny’s hands tightly grab his shoulders and then skim down his back, slide up the back of his shirt. He peels it off and Tweek lets him, stretches his arms and bows his head. Kenny shoves it underneath his own neck where he’s forced to lie beneath him and take it. Tweek’s sure his naked back and naked ass are filthy from the way he’s ground up against the dirt. He won’t be clean, either. His knees hurt. There will be grit and stones pressed up into his skin when he’s done. _He’ll_ have to clean up, but Kenny won’t.

That’s always the difference between them.

It’s a very dull, a very clouded and sad night, but Tweek pretends he can see the Moon gleaming on the surface of his hunting knife as he brings it up in the air and slices it through Kenny’s skin again. It’s under his nipple this time, and it’s curved again, like a sick little smile. He carves him up in the same way on the other side, and gives pause, and then because he forces himself _not_ to think about it he twists it up and just slices the whole fucking thing off. Kenny tenses and groans beneath him, he can’t tell if it’s pain or pleasure, probably both because he’s just that fucked up—another thing that divides them clean in two—the nerves are severed and it’s just this strange little divot there. If it healed maybe it’d knit together and pucker but now it’s just nothing, just bloodied and torn muscle underneath. Tweek’s never held a chunk of another man’s flesh in his hand before, let alone his goddamn _nipple,_ and he throws it aside somewhere in the direction of the tracks. Kenny doesn’t even touch his own chest. He won’t touch anything, except for Tweek.

He’s gone there now. He’s gone there, _gone there,_ and there’s no turning back. _Kenny didn’t die,_ Cartman said once when he desperately tried to find an answer, _somewhere._ Kenny didn’t die. _‘cause if he did, I woulda skull-fucked him._ And he laughed, but Tweek heard it. Tweek heard the note there, he was lying, he was _fucking lying_ but he had nothing. Because nobody ever believed him.

Tweek won’t skull-fuck him, he doesn’t have the balls _nor_ the stomach for it, but he’ll gladly carve Kenny up, feel the way his insides fucking _clench_ around him with each slash of the blade. Several lines are placed side by side, kind of like the tattered clothing on the ground, and they’re not scratches, but gashes. Enough to be gashes, just above his hip, and blood drips down over the sharp bone there. He goes a little deeper on his stomach, imagines the guts just spilling out of him in a long gruesome line filled with water and bile, but there’s just more flesh, hot and pink and splitting, and more blood.

More blood.

“What happens,” Tweek rasps out when he fills his hands with it; presses them up against Kenny’s belly, pokes one of his fingertips into the mess he’s made like he could just grab that elastic skin and tear it open wider, until it splits across Kenny’s gut, even though he doesn’t have one at all. “ _What happens!_ ” Kenny just touches his hair with a gentleness that makes him want to cry all over again. “What happens,” he tries again, hissing through clenched teeth, “if you _go_ while someone’s _in_ you!”

“ _Nhh—_ nothing,” is Kenny’s answer. “Nothing.”

“What do you _mean,_ nothing?!” Tweek smears his hands down Kenny’s chest, gripping at whatever skin and muscle he can. “Whatdoyou _mean?!_ ”

“Just… nothing.” His voice is surprisingly calm given the state he’s in. “Nothing happens, I go, and they’re here.”

“What if I’m _in you,_ ” Tweek chokes out. “What if I’m _really_ in you?! What if I fucking climb inside and sew your skin shut, what then?!”

“I don’t know,” Kenny answers honestly. “Planning to try?”

“Don’t _mock_ me!” shrieks Tweek. He slaps him across the face, and then does it again, and again. “Don’t fucking _mock_ me right now, you can’t make fun of me, I fucking—! I hate you, I hate you _so much,_ why can’t I ever go?!”

“You just,” and Kenny coughs wetly, “you just— you can’t. I’d bring you if I could. But you can’t.”

“I’m gonna, gonna open you up, I’ll _disembowel_ you, there’ll be nothing left for _anyone_ to find, not even…” Another sob escapes him. “ _Not even me!_ ” And he rides him hard, rides his ass hard, and Kenny’s hard dick is trapped between their bodies whenever he presses flush against him. He wants him to come. Even if he hates him with everything he has, Tweek wants him to come. One hand’s on his windpipe again and the blade hovers over his chest, precariously, and it already feels like the blood’s run in rivers around them. He’s scared to make that final blow. Maybe he can slit his throat, make him _bleed_ out, make him—

He can feel the breath flapping uselessly in Kenny’s throat, like a moth. “You wanna bleed out?” Tweek cries. “ _Tell me! Tell me what I should do!_ ”

Kenny doesn’t tell him. Not with words. He just leans up with his fading strength, fingers tangled in Tweek’s hair and crushes their mouths together. Tweek pulls back where he’d been throttling him and presses the blade against his throat, and Kenny’s hand is on his, so rough and calloused and weathered even though he’s supposed to be born _anew_ every time, every _fucking_ time. And he wants him to do it. He wants to pull Tweek across the threshold, the point of no return, because while Tweek will have to live with this for the rest of his life, so will _he._ It’s something they can finally share together. That’s what it means, right?

Isn’t that what it means?

“Gut you,” Tweek chokes out. “Gut you open. Cut you open, _gut_ you _open!_ ” Before he can think about it the knife’s plunged into Kenny’s belly, and he hears Kenny’s voice scrape against its cords, like he’s startled by the pain. It makes Tweek’s stomach hurt just thinking about what he’s done, and blood flows warm and pulsing onto his hands, there’s so much of it, but it doesn’t gush. It just flows, a steady river. Tweek whines low in the back of his throat and grabs Kenny’s cock in his hand, desperately jerks him off while the life ebbs from him in every drop that escapes, and Kenny tenses beneath _and_ around him, it’s flowing out of him too, and they’re not actually going to come together but that’s all right. It’s all right for him, it’s well and good, Kenny’s sticky with blood and semen and Tweek can’t find the strength to pull out but he won’t go on either. He can’t go on, not like this. He collapses against him, lays his head somewhere by his chest, and he can hear him. He can still hear him.

 _We’ll do this again._ But had he really said it, or was that his ears playing tricks on him? They always tell him he has an overactive imagination. They always tell him there isn’t really any shadow around the corner and he just needs more fucking sleep, sleep will cure everything. _We’ll do this again, and you’ll get better, one day you’ll have the balls to tear me to shreds._

“What if it’s the last time?” he cries, and clutches at him fervently. “What if… what if it’s the last… what if I _never,_ if I never, _I’ll never…_ ”

“ _Not,_ ” Kenny manages to wheeze out. “Never the last.” His arms around around him, he’s holding Tweek tight and his cheek’s pressed into his hair, and all Tweek can hear anymore is the steady _lub-dub, lub-dub_ of his heart as it slows and slows, and weakens, and it will burn out, very soon, just a matter of seconds. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, or _felt it,_ but it’s the first time _he’s_ been the one to wind down the clock. Will Kenny even forgive him in the aftermath?

Tweek wails then, and finally, _finally_ finds the strength to carve him completely _open,_ to lay his hands inside and play on his ribs, run across the black-bile-green squish of his guts, feel the water in him, the halted stream of his blood, the still stone of his heart…

When he awakens, he’s filthy, and scraped, and broken, and it’s dawn, and there’s not even a scrap left of Kenny. Not even his stupid hobo boots. It’s like he never even existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is intentionally ambiguous. I might expand on this later though since guro, and the idea of Tweek being the only one to remember/understand Kenny's deaths to the point of being driven insane, are my fucking jam.
> 
> Yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	9. Day 09 - Titfucking (Kyle/Cartman)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle fucks Cartman's tits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've ever written Kyman, lmao. And weird problematic shit like this is the only way I see them. Sorry, not sorry.
> 
> Just a warning that there are some anti-Semitic insults lobbed in here. It's Cartman. That's how he do. I am not Cartman.

Kyle gave pause when his fingers touched the buttons of his shirt. The thick, meaty weight of his companion’s hand rested over his. It was damp and kind of felt like a puffy, oversized baby hand, which was mildly revolting. He jerked away with a scowl.

“I could help you with those,” Cartman offered, with a leer and a lift of his eyebrows. Kyle huffed and turned away from him.

“I got it.” His fingers shouldn’t have gone numb the way they did. But there they were; they were practically useless. What the fuck could he have possibly done to land himself in this predicament in the first place? Cartman was sitting naked in front of him with his doughy body all on display. His little dick jutted out under the round globe of his belly from a mess of unkempt hair. His legs were thick and hairy and for whatever reason Kyle found himself picturing what his naked ass might look like. It would probably feel good to grab onto, like a giant pillow against his pelvis as he rammed his dick up there.

Immediately a wave of revulsion hit him. Why was he picturing this? Cartman claimed to have showered and he didn’t stink _too_ badly, yet—how he’d fare once things got rolling remained to be seen—but Kyle couldn’t stop thinking about how nasty and unhygienic his ass probably was.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Kyle said as he unzipped his pants, briefly contemplated just taking it out but with Cartman’s girth it would probably be even more difficult to maneuver, so he felt his face flare up like fire, but the pants were gone. And his briefs. Cartman snickered like this was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on Kyle’s body hair.

“Better not leave any ginger pubes on me, _Kyle,_ ” he drawled, pronouncing Kyle’s name in that obnoxious nasal way of his that always got on Kyle’s nerves.

“At least I _groom_ myself!” Kyle shot back. “You fucking fatass!”

“Oh, no,” Cartman said, with a tap to his chin. “You… you actually called me a _fatass._ You’ve gotten so clever over the years, my man.”

“Can we just get this _over with,_ ” Kyle growled through his teeth.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Cartman. He snatched up Kyle’s very flaccid penis in his hand and hummed thoughtfully as he stared down it. “Just double-checking,” he said with a wink.

Double-checking _what,_ Kyle knew Cartman was just trying to bait him into what was possibly going to turn into a pathetic anti-Semitic joke somehow, so he kept his mouth shut. Cartman brought his hand up like he was going to spit in it. Kyle blanched and actually twisted away from him with a short cry.

“What the _fuck!_ No, Cartman, what the Hell! I brought lube, just use that!” He rummaged around in the backpack he’d brought along and tossed the tube onto the bed.

“I wanted to spit on you,” said Cartman, “after everything you and your people have done. But, fine.” He squirted it out and grabbed Kyle’s (still soft) dick again. “I hope you’re a grower, Kyle,” he quipped. “Because goddamn.”

“At least I can _see_ mine,” Kyle snapped, as his ears burned. He knew it was just another stupid way for Cartman to dig at him, but it got under his skin anyway. There was absolutely nothing wrong with just having an average size. The world was not comprised of size queens _or_ pornstar-sized monsters.

“Well,” said Cartman. “At least I don’t have erectile dysfunction.”

“ _I_ don’t have it either!” Kyle had to fight not to just kick at him. “Of _course_ I’d have trouble getting it up for you! You’re fucking _disgusting!_ ”

Cartman just laughed at him. Seething, Kyle closed his eyes. Maybe if he pretended Cartman’s hand was just like, a weird sex toy or something, he could fall into it easier. The handjob, untrained it might’ve been, _did_ feel kind of good—objectively. He inhaled shakily and listened to the sloppy noises of his wet dick sliding through a closed fist and—the sound of Cartman’s breathing. Naturally, it was through his mouth. Ugh.

“Okay,” he said and pushed Cartman’s hand away, replaced it with his own. “Okay, I’m uh, I’m halfway up so…” Kyle always felt awkward talking about sex. It wasn’t that he didn’t _enjoy_ it, but words felt weird. Descriptions felt weird. Sure, if he could get someone _else_ to talk dirty, he was all into that, but try and get him to describe the state of his dick? Yeah, no.

Cartman, with a shit-eating grin, leaned forward. His chest was moderately hairy, not as much as, say, Stan—but it was still covered in short, bristly hairs that went all the way down his stomach. “Look at these, Kyle,” he said, grabbing his corpulent breasts and mashing them together in a mockery of a woman’s cleavage. “Bet these turn you on, huh?”

“No,” Kyle all but snarled.

“Oh, I bet they do. You wouldn’t be here if they didn’t, right?” Cartman patted them, and Kyle watched in horror as they jiggled. He had definitely, _definitely_ hit rock bottom here. He already knew he’d fallen into the pit of self-loathing before his agreement, before his arrival, but now they were right before his very eyes and the reality of this situation was really starting to sink in. He felt like all of the colour had drained from his face.

“Stop it,” he said. “Just _stop._ ”

“C’mon, Kyle,” Cartman egged him on. “You said you wanted to get this over with.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice when he said it, but then he dropped his voice to what Kyle thought might have been a really terrible attempt at sounding like a seductive whisper. “C’mon, Kyle. Fuck _mah_ titties.”

Wordlessly, Kyle shifted his legs apart, tucked them underneath himself. Cartman cackled and bent forward to press his doughy man-tits up against his cock, drew the length right between them and Kyle felt himself engulfed on either side by squishy, slightly-woolly flesh. He thought about the kind of sweat that would accumulate beneath them, in the “underboob”, as they call it, and promptly wished that he hadn’t. “Keep going, you fat, racist piece of shit,” he spat.

“Tch, Kyle. Why are you being so mean? You wanted to do this.” Cartman had both of his hands pressed to his guy-knockers as he drew himself up and down Kyle’s slick shaft. The lube on his dick and the perspiration that was already developing from body heat and friction, both of them made good on the lubrication front. Yes, Cartman’s big dude-hooters were doing their job, whatever job that was supposed to _be,_ and much to his shock and horror Kyle actually found himself swelling to full arousal.

“I hate you,” he said. “You’re still garbage after this. No one has ever wanted to touch you, and no one ever will!”

“Except for you, Kyle,” Cartman said with a chuckle.

“I don’t _want_ any of this!”

“Oh, but you do. Who’s the one who got a boner for my titties, Kyle?” Cartman was moving faster. All of the flesh on his upper body wiggled right with him, Kyle thought about his huge ass again, and he was _definitely_ getting Cartman’s sweat on him. It had been a wise choice to get rid of his clothing. “Who’s the one who wanted my titties, Kyle?”

“Fuck you, Cartman,” Kyle snapped back, though his gaze was entirely focused on the flushed head of his cock as it poked up into the air out from between Cartman’s dirtypillows.

“You wanna?” Cartman paused for a second, but then he continued. Kyle _refused_ to move at all into this, and he didn’t care how much he ached from the effort of holding his pelvis still. “I’ll have to think about it. I don’t know how I feel about fire crotches. You already know I’m half-ginger, you might awaken the monster inside of me.”

“Fuck you!” Kyle hollered it this time. Cartman’s puffy nipples were all hard and pointy. “You’re going to die a _virgin!_ ”

“I’m not a virgin,” Cartman said very matter-of-factly, in the same vein as he would say, _I’m not fat_ or _Your mom’s a bitch, Kyle._ He rocked his upper body from side to side, jiggling his hairy titties against Kyle’s aching erection. Kyle bit into his lip to stifle the sigh that was threatening to escape him. Why did that have to feel so good? Out of morbid, sickly curiosity he tried to look down to see if Cartman’s nasty, hairy little prick was still erect, but all he could see were beefy mounds of flesh and Cartman’s awful, awful grin. Kyle squeezed his eyes shut.

“You gotta cum, Kyle,” Cartman goaded him. “That’s part of the deal. Your juice controls the media, so let it flow.”

“Shut the fuck up, Cartman,” Kyle said quietly. “Just shut up.”

“C’mon, Kyle. Don’t be a Jew about your Jew-chowder. Gimme some of that sweet stuff.” His tongue, his fucking _tongue_ ran over the head of Kyle’s cock, and Kyle snapped his eyes open in horror. Cartman had ducked his head enough to be able to do so. “You were right about being a grower,” he said with a horrible smirk.

“I never said I was a grower!” Kyle’s legs trembled where they lay tucked beneath him.

“Show me that Jew-gold, Kyle,” Cartman said in that gross “seductive” whisper of his, and Kyle couldn’t take the pressure in his balls anymore: he rutted up quickly, tried to snatch that orgasm from Cartman quickly, and his breath caught in his throat when it came to him quickly. Just like that. It left a little pool at the top of Cartman’s breasts as they were pressed together, and as soon as Kyle extracted himself and Cartman let them flop apart again, Kyle’s cum dripped down the center of his chest. “Awesome,” said Cartman, as he collected it in his hand and immediately began to jack off. “Guess what, Kyle? I’m masturbating with your Jew jizz. Bet that’ll get you hard again.”

“No it _won’t,_ ” Kyle seethed, and set about pulling his clothes back on. He did _not_ want to watch this revolting display. Fortunately, Cartman also came pretty quickly, grunting like the disgusting fat pig he was. Kyle, fully dressed at that point, sat there with his arms crossed. “ _Well?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Cartman as he grabbed a tissue and mopped up the strings that were surely matted in the tangled shrubbery between his massive thighs. Kyle did not want to think about it and he _certainly_ did not want to _look._ Cartman threw them on the floor somewhere.

“Gross,” Kyle said.

“Yep,” Cartman replied. “It’s my bedroom.” He got up and Kyle finally got an eyeful of his huge, flabby, cellulite-riddled butt as he crossed over to his desk and rummaged around in it. Kyle felt a twisted little pang in his stomach: revulsion. It was revulsion, wasn’t it? Still naked, Cartman returned to him and reached into the wallet, pulled out a stack of bills.

“ _Finally,_ ” huffed Kyle.

“Keep your shirt on, Jew. I’m counting.” And he did, out loud, as he laid them out on the bed. “…Three hundred. And there you go. Three hundred shekels.”

“It’s 300 _dollars,_ Cartman.” Why was he even indulging him? They were done here. Kyle got up and stepped into his shoes. “This never happened and I’m never going to talk to you again.”

“Uh-huh,” Cartman mused as he pulled out a Cuban cigar from somewhere and lit up. “See you next week, whore.”


	10. Day 10 - Waxplay (Kyle/Stan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle reluctantly tries a new thing at Stan's behest. It has slightly unexpected results.

“So,” Stan said at dinner that night. “I wanna try something.”

Kyle lowered his wine glass. “Okay,” he replied. When Stan just stared at him instead of continuing on, he lifted an eyebrow. “Well? What?”

“Umm…” Stan grew considerably more nervous then, tapped his fingers on the table and averted his eyes. “It’s so stupid. Dude, it’s so dumb. Just nevermind.”

Kyle exhaled. This was going to be a sex conversation. This always happened when it was a sex conversation. Stan was only slightly less nervous than he was when it came to the things he wanted. And _he_ was only slightly _more_ impatient. Kyle crossed his arms. “Just spit it out, Stan.”

“Okay.” Stan found the courage to look first at Kyle, then to the candles in the center of the table, their flames dancing in the faint cross breeze from the fans overhead. “You know how I keep doing _this_ all the time?” He stuck his finger into one of the holders on the silver candelabra that formed the centerpiece in the first place.

“Yeah,” Kyle answered him. “It’s really annoying. Especially when you knock it over.”

“I didn’t knock it over!” Stan argued back. “I mean, okay, maybe that one time, but dude. I caught it.”

“Okay, Stan.” Kyle shook his head. “Anyway, yes, I know how you do that. Constantly. In the middle of dinner.” Stan pulled his hand back. White wax coated the tip of his finger, which he promptly peeled off, and flicked away like it was a booger. Kyle almost face-planted into the table right then and there.

“Yeah, that. I like the way it feels.” Stan shrugged. “Anyway, so Kenny—”

“ _No._ ”

“What!” Stan’s voice went up. “Dude, you told me to say it!”

“I don’t want to hear any more of Kenny’s _stupid_ ideas about our sex life!” Last time, Kenny suggested that Stan jerk off on Kyle’s face after a blowjob instead of coming in his mouth, because Kyle always spit it out and that made Stan feel sad and insecure. Stan took his suggestion to heart and the next time Kyle had his cock in his mouth, Stan spontaneously yanked it out and eagerly let himself go. Some of it landed in Kyle’s hair, some of it smeared on his cheek, and a bit of it even got into his eye, which was the best part.

“Are you still holding that one thing against me?” pouted Stan.

“Yes, I am!” Kyle angrily went back to his _coq au vin._ The fork nearly scraped on his plate with the force in which he stabbed it into the chicken.

“Kenny didn’t even suggest it!” Stan protested. “He just said it felt good. Like, you drip it on your skin. It’s painful at first but that’s the fun of it. Then you get to peel it when it dries. Or it can just stay there and you can make like, a design or something. It’s pretty cool.”

“Did you _make a cool design_ with Kenny?” Kyle practically snarled.

“What? No, dude! Come on. He just showed me how to do it. On himself.”

Kyle remained silent for a moment. At any rate, he felt the anger recede. After he swallowed the bite in his mouth and took another sip of wine he finally answered, “Fine.”

“Fine what? Fine you’ll do it, or just like—”

“Yes,” Kyle interrupted. “Fine, I’ll try it. But we’re putting an old sheet down first.” Honestly, he’d use plastic if he could get away with it, but there was something about the way plastic squeaked and crunched beneath him with every movement that reminded him of being young enough to wet the bed.

Gross.

 

 

* * *

 

“So,” Kyle said, blue candle in hand, “I can drip this anywhere? Anywhere I want?” The wax already felt soft against his fingers.

“Please don’t get it in my eye,” Stan begged. “You can like, I dunno, have your revenge or whatever, but _please_ don’t put it my eye, dude.”

“I’m not a _monster,_ Stan.” Kyle snorted. The room was dim and glowing, entirely lit by candles that, incidentally, they would _not_ be using for anything but ambience and light. They were scattered in places across the nightstands and the dresser and even atop the small bookcase on the far end, where Stan kept his trophies on display. It was pretty romantic, all things considered. Shadows danced along the wall. Stan was lying naked on the sheet they’d thrown across their bed, arms laced behind his head. Kyle let his eyes sweep over his firm, _hairy,_ manly body. Even with his slightly puffy nipples and beer paunch, inherited right from his father (along with his darker, shittier problems), he was handsome.

Not that Kyle was really in this for looks, anyhow. He liked to think he was a better person than that.

They’d purchased special, safer candles to actually play with. After a couple days of researching and preparing, Kyle was psyched and ready to put this little play-date to the test. But, there was just one thing that was going to make this a little more difficult than he’d wanted to deal with. The hair. “Stan,” Kyle started.

“Yeah?”

“I was kind of hoping you’d… you know. Shave?”

“Whoa.” Stan frowned. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kyle replied. “Otherwise the wax will get stuck. I thought that was obvious.”

“Oh…” Stan had that faraway look in his eyes, the one he got when he was trying to grasp something that, for all intents and purposes, was rudimentary. “Oh!” He sat up slightly and briefly looked down at himself. “Don’t worry about it, dude. It’ll be fine.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Come on.”

Stan reached up and tugged Kyle down for a kiss. That was nice. After slipping his tongue past Stan’s lips, Kyle opened his eyes, glanced downward, and then very, _veeeryyy_ carefully tipped the candle he was holding. The flame swooped upward and a deep blue substance dripped out; it didn’t even look like wax. Not in the air. It almost looked like syrup, the kind you put on Sno-cones. Three drops of it splattered down onto Stan’s midsection at once and Stan yelped into Kyle’s mouth. Their teeth clicked together and then Kyle pulled back. “Shit, dude,” Stan breathed. The pitter-pats cooled on his skin to the soft waxy substance Kyle expected, and he pressed two of his fingertips against them. They were still warm.

“Did that hurt?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah, kinda,” Stan answered him. “It did at first.”

“Sweet.” With a little smirk, Kyle tipped the candle forward again. Drip-drip-drip-drip it went over Stan’s thigh. Stan whined and squirmed, and his hand hovered in the air above his leg, like he didn’t actually want to disturb whatever pain the heat had brought him.

“Jeez,” he said. “That’s hot!”

“Well, duh,” Kyle replied. “What did you expect?”

“I mean, I like it. I really like it, actually.” Stan settled back comfortably on the bed. “Get another one.”

“Okay,” said Kyle. “Yeah, a bunch of colours will look cool.” He snuffed out the blue and reached over to set it aside, then grabbed another one at random from the set. It was green. He carefully lit the wick, and watched the flame bloom into existence. For a moment, only silence stretched between them. Stan reached down to try and pick at one of the blue spots on his skin like it was a scab or something, and Kyle swatted at his hand. “Don’t.”

“Hurry up, dude.” Stan closed his eyes and sighed.

“I’m _waiting_ for the wax to melt!” Kyle rolled his eyes at him. Stan was precious and all, but he really was a fucking idiot sometimes. Just for that, as soon as the liquid started to well up, Kyle tilted the candle without warning and let it fall over the center of his torso. It dripped down quick and formed tiny puddles that spread outward. A few droplets slid down Stan’s sides. And Stan made a harsh, strangled noise and tensed up. “Good?” Kyle prompted him.

“Uh-huh.”

“Want more?” He was ready to fucking douse him in the stuff at this point. Stan only nodded and stared up at him with wide eyes, and Kyle tipped the candle forward again. This time it was over his belly. Kyle was tempted to just pour it directly into Stan’s navel to see how he’d like _that,_ but one look at the hair that surrounded it—to say nothing of the thick trail underneath that led down to the wiry, shining-black curls around the base of his cock, which lay half-hard against him—and he backed away from that thought process. Instead, he watched Stan’s belly suck in and harden under the hot drizzle that dripped down in lines. Stan yelped and parted his legs. Kyle smirked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he taunted.

“It hurts!” whined Stan.

“We can stop if you want,” Kyle reminded him.

“No…” Stan looked down at the accumulating mess on his body. “We don’t have to. Not yet.”

“Good,” Kyle replied. “We still have three more colours to get through.”

 

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Kyle,” Stan suggested a bit of time later, when they were working through the red. At one point, one of the drips had slid down right over his nipple, which made him arch clean off the bed and shout. Kyle was rubbing it in circles to stem the burn away, which wasn’t difficult at all, seeing as he could feel it congeal into the pliant, waxy substance they were used to. “What do you think sticking a candle up my ass would be like?”

“ _What?!_ ” Kyle raised his voice a notch. This was just like him, too. Stan would either be completely shy like a blushing, bashful virgin—or he’d just bust out with ridiculous ideas in the heat of the moment. Sometimes, Kyle would be amused.

This was not one of those times.

“I could roll over,” Stan continued. “We could try it right now, dude. And then you can pour more of that stuff on my back.”

“I am _not_ pushing a candle up your ass, Stan.”

“Even if we ignore the lighting part?”

Instead of answering him with words, Kyle angrily poured more of the red onto him. Nipple mishaps aside, Stan seemed to be developing a real tolerance to the stuff. His upper body was starting to show off a rainbow of coagulated colours, mostly drops that slid down over his skin, like raindrops on a windowpane. Kyle blew out the red and set about using the orange next.

“When do I get to jerk off?” Stan asked him. Kyle dripped the orange wax down onto his other thigh, the one that had yet to be touched. It oozed dangerously close to his penis. Beads of sweat ran down his… penis and Stan immediately took it aside in his hand. For protection. Kyle supposed he’d been expecting some kind of stimulation throughout all this, too. It _was_ a bedroom activity, after all. But why couldn’t it just remain here like this, sensual and hot instead of segueing into actual sexual contact?

“I feel like your come would ruin it, Stan,” Kyle said very seriously. More orange fell on Stan’s chest, ran down the lines of his pecs and dipped into the faint crease just above the place where his gut started.

“Then we could—” One stern look from Kyle and he immediately shut his mouth. But then, Kyle felt a surge of pity overtake him. Briefly he thought about spilling some of the stuff onto his cock, or his balls, or maybe both. No, that would be too cruel. He forced the thought away.

Maybe next time.

Kyle took up the blue again. Once he lit the wick, he took Stan’s cock in the other hand, and gave it a few cursory strokes. Stan winced slightly. “What the Hell, it’s gonna chafe.” Jesus Christ. He was _such_ a fucking princess sometimes. Kyle rolled his eyes.

“Then get the lube out,” he told him. Once his hand was slathered with the stuff, while Stan temporarily held the blue candle and poured it on himself—a little too fast, and it made him give a sharp _ow!_ —Kyle retrieved the candle from him and took his cock in hand. It was a good thing he was ambidextrous. The candle continued its relentless assault of burning colour, and Kyle stroked him at the same time, in a mad attempt to somehow stay focused on both. Finally, he gave up and blew out the candle. Stan was fully hard in his hand at that point and Kyle firmly stroked his hand up and down his shaft, expertly twisted his hand just a little, grabbed him in the right places. Stan was panting and pushing his hips up against Kyle’s hand, no shame whatsoever.

“That’s— oh god, that’s _so_ good, Kyle, fuck…” Stan moaned and gripped Kyle’s upper arm like he’d never gotten a handjob from him before.

“Just let me know when you’re getting close,” Kyle replied, and reached to pull out a few tissues from the box. They would be at the ready for whenever Stan was going to let himself go.

“I’m close!” Stan cried, immediately after Kyle delivered that little caveat. Kyle cupped his tissues over the head, and stroked, squeezed it all out of him. He felt it through the thin material and it even tore a little, the warm goopy stuff touching Kyle’s fingertips. With a frown, he tossed them into the wastebasket nearby.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Kyle concluded.

“Yeah,” Stan agreed when he was able to speak again, his voice still a touch breathless. He kissed his partner on the cheek. “Thanks for trying that. It was fun.”

“It was. But now we need to clean up.”

“Not _yet,_ ” Stan protested. He looked down at himself, at all the colours that had been spread over his skin. It really _did_ look nice, Kyle had to admit. “Now it’s time to pick it all off,” Stan said eagerly. “That might give me another one all over again.”

“Another _what?_ ” Kyle retorted, though he was pretty sure he had an idea of what Stan was referring to. He hauled himself up onto the bed next to Stan, and sat back against the headboard. Stan’s fingers took hold of a particularly thick piece where blue and green sort of mish-mashed together, and tugged. There was a bit of resistance, but then—

“ _Oww! Jesus fucking Christ!_ ”

“I told you,” sighed Kyle. Stan frantically picked and pulled at the stuff on his chest. The result was a bunch of fluffy dark hair crusted and matted with wax in all the wonderful colours of the rainbow. He whined and scratched at the reddened skin underneath. “Didn’t Kenny brief you on this part?” Kyle asked him, and didn’t even bother to try and _not_ look as unimpressed with the entire situation as he did.

“No! Kenny’s like, a twink, he doesn’t have any—”

“Yep,” Kyle replied. “I guess I’m gonna have to call him. This is why we don’t listen to Kenny, Stan.”

And they never did again. At least, not for the next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	11. Day 11 - Sounding (Craig/Kenny/Tweek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek, Kenny and Craig bring their relationship to another level. A very weird level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sounding is the practice of very carefully sliding surgical steel rods into your pee hole. If you didn't know that, I'm sorry. But it's actually one of those things where if it hurts, that means you should stop. It's supposed to be a pleasurable thing, as weird as that sounds. Welcome to the edge.
> 
> Weirdly enough, there is a heavy dose of fluff in here, too. :/

“Well, Tweek,” Kenny stated, hands pressed to the front of the small leather case that sat on one of the night-tables. “I gotta hand it to ya. I thought I was the sick bastard out of the three of us, but then you go and blow me out of the water.”

“ _Agh!_ Shut up,” replied Tweek. Both he and Craig were sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed the three of them shared, and he was the only one of them who was naked, the towel he’d been wearing around his waist after the shower currently spread out beneath him. His hair was still slightly damp and it curled enticingly around his neck, nipples puckered in the cool air. Craig sat just beyond the edge of the towel. He reached out to caress Tweek’s arm.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“But I want to!” Tweek defended, and puffed out his cheeks at him in an adorable little scowl. Craig leaned in and kissed them on either side.

“Yep,” Kenny affirmed as he opened the case and snapped on a pair of medical gloves. Craig’s eyes actually widened when he caught sight of what lay inside: eight urethral sounds, made of smooth surgical steel and very subtly curved on the ends. Kenny whistled like he was impressed, even though he’d seen them before. The thickest of them was about as big around as his index finger and it lay side-by-side with its two companions who were marginally smaller in diameter. Craig swallowed thickly and reached out toward the largest one.

“Uh,” he asked, “are you really—”

“Don’t touch!” scolded Tweek. Craig frowned.

“I wasn’t gonna.” His hand sort of just hovered there.

“Craig’s about to have an aneurysm imagining you taking this sucker in, that’s all,” Kenny informed Tweek, and lightly tapped the rod with a latex-covered fingertip. This time it was Tweek’s eyes that were like saucers.

“ _Jesus,_ man!” he cried. “No! No way in Hell! I’m—I’m just gonna, probably just work up to the third!”

“Gonna stretch out that urethra like it’s a virgin butthole,” said Kenny. Craig groaned.

“If you’re going to be providing this kind of commentary the entire time,” he stated, “I’m out. I’m leaving.”

“Bye.”

“Stop it!” Tweek fussed at them. “ _Both_ of you! I want you both here!” He leaned over to give Craig a soft kiss, then waved his hand at Kenny. Kenny rolled his eyes because good lord, they were both such fucking _saps,_ but Tweek also kind of made him into a sap, and so did Craig but in an entirely different manner, so he had no room to talk. After giving Tweek the kiss he wanted Kenny opened the _Surgilube_ they’d acquired for this very purpose and took the first sound in hand. It was very thin.

“I don’t think Craig did his homework,” he remarked offhandedly while smearing a glob of the jelly onto the metal rod. Tweek’s dick was entirely soft.

“What makes you say that?” Craig defended.

“Just a hunch.”

“Is that _true,_ Craig?” Tweek whipped his head around to glare daggers at his boyfriend. Craig frowned.

“I’m not the one who’s doing it,” he said. “So was it really necessary?”

“Jesus _Christ!_ ” Tweek tugged at the ends of his hair, then shoved Craig in the shoulder. “You gotta be fucking _kidding_ me! Of course it was necessary!”

“Look,” Craig retorted. “This is your thing, with Kenny. I’m just an observer. So I wasn’t going to waste my time reading something I didn’t have to know how to do.”

“I can’t _believe_ this! Of _course_ you’re a part of it too, you dick!”

“Boys,” Kenny cut in. “Come on. Can’t we all just get along? Open your legs, Tweek, and hold onto your dick. Uh, literally. That wasn’t a euphemism for horses or whatever.” Tweek did as he was told, and hitched his legs apart. But instead of taking his dick in hand, he turned his eyes back on Craig.

“ _You_ hold onto it,” he ordered. Craig didn’t even offer up any form of protest; he simply picked it up between his thumb and forefinger. The state it was in made Kenny give pause.

“Huh.” He lightly tapped the end of the rod in his hand. “I almost forgot you were a grower. This might be easier if you get some chub going first.”

“He’s already getting stiff in my hand,” Craig replied.

“Of course I am!” Tweek said, a reassuring note in his voice, before he leaned over to give Craig another—considerably deeper—kiss. Kenny watched as he skimmed the length of it a few times, slowly. It made him want to reach out and do something gay like stroke his fingers along Craig’s arm and then let them rub along Tweek’s cock, but he had to keep things sterile. At least, for the time being.

Both of them eased up and Craig still cradled Tweek’s cock in his hand, only this time it had gotten considerably harder. Not quite close to full arousal yet, which was a good thing, but the warmth of Craig’s touch on him had clearly struck a good balance with Tweek. Kenny stepped closer to them.

“Okay,” he remarked. “Get ready to be probed.” He trailed his finger along the subtle cleft of Tweek’s cock-head and moved down just underneath it to hold it steady between his fingers. Craig seemed to take the wordless hint because he drew his hand further down to hold onto Tweek at the hilt. Very carefully, and precisely, Kenny nudged only the absolute tip of the rod just barely past the little opening he found there, and ran it around in a tiny, imperceptible circle. Tweek gasped and Kenny could feel the little chill that shot through him.

“Too much?” Kenny asked him. Tweek quickly shook his head. “Never thought I’d get so up close and personal with your pisshole,” remarked Kenny. “Never even really thought about its existence, except when you’re getting the tongue treatment. It’s pretty cute.”

“Don’t say that,” said Craig, before Tweek could even respond to it.

“Why?” Kenny chuckled. “Look at it, Craig. Look at your boyfriend’s little tiny peehole. Isn’t it cute?”

“This is so weird.”

“Can we keep going?” asked Tweek. His toes curled and flexed. He was clearly fighting not to squirm.

“Yeah,” Kenny answered him. “‘Course we can.” He carefully eased the rod further inside, but just a little, as he let it slide right past that hole and straight down into his—well, his urethra. Something Kenny never pictured being a concept between the two (or three) of them. Certainly, _he’d_ had the passing curiosity, _he_ had some kinks that were pretty far out there, but he would never for the life of him suspect that _Tweek_ had been reading up on this stuff and getting hung up on the idea of trying it out. Kenny _almost_ felt envious that Tweek was actually on his way to having tried something that Kenny had never done.

A low, soft whine started in the back of Tweek’s throat. Kenny waved Craig’s hand away from his prick and carefully took up the grip at the bottom in place of him. He kept a firm, steady hold on the rod that was precariously pinched between his fingertips, and watched in awe as gravity did the rest of the trick. The rod worked its way in and slowly traveled downward. Tweek squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, _god,_ ” he groaned, his voice strained, and then he grit his teeth, hands balled into tight fists. “ _Nnnnh,_ fuck!”

“Nope.” Craig abruptly stood up. “I can’t do this. Have fun.” Even in the effort to hold his composure, his face looked a bit ashen. Without looking any further at the other two young men in the room, he walked right out the bedroom door—which was halfway open—and promptly shut it behind him.

“ _Craig!_ ” Tweek’s voice was indignant. “What the fuck, man!”

“I told you,” Kenny said with a sigh. “He should’ve read the articles I sent him. Does it hurt?”

“No!” Tweek’s thighs were trembling, but he briskly shook his head. “It’s, _nnn._ It’s just kind of… intense? And… wow. Oh, god.” He let out a little squeak and braced a hand against Kenny’s shoulder. “ _Oh!_ ”

“There we go,” Kenny cooed encouragingly, and peeled off one of the gloves so he could stroke his fingers through Tweek’s hair. The rod’s movements had come to a complete stop. “Guess it found your bladder. That’s where it stops. How’s it feel?”

“Oh, _oh god,_ I-I don’t know! I don’t know how to describe it!” Tweek was squirming in his seat and quivering, but Kenny knew the look in his eyes when he was in pain versus when he was in _pleasure,_ and… well, this definitely wasn’t pain. “ _Uuuhn,_ fuck, aah…”

“Not too intense, is it sweetheart?”

Tweek actually looked like he needed to contemplate the answer, just for a second, before he gave a quick jerking shake of his head. “It— it burns and feels, mm, sort of… cold yet not really and, _aah…_ god…”

“Like you gotta pee?”

“N-no, um…” Tweek bit his lip. “Maybe a little, not really, _nnn._ ” Kenny very gently took the end of the metal that was sticking out of Tweek’s dick, and lifted it up, just a bit, before letting it slide back down again. Tweek let out a short, sharp cry. “ _Fuck,_ Kenny!” It was a shame Craig was missing out on all this. Tweek’s reactions alone were getting Kenny hard, and he decided to show Tweek this by grabbing his hand and promptly pulling it to his jeans. A shaky little smile graced Tweek’s lips as he felt along the shape of Kenny’s length through the denim and slowly rubbed him there.

“You look beautiful,” Kenny told him. “I’m proud of you.” He traced his fingers over Tweek’s length, just under the place where the silvery steel jutted out of him, and all the way down, over his balls. “Always did think you had a pretty dick.”

“Thanks?” Tweek laughed. Kenny did too, and kissed him. He lightly rubbed his fingers against Tweek’s balls and then lifted them up so he could tickle the seam underneath.

“S’posed to be able to feel it here,” he teased, and lightly pressed on his fuzzy taint. Tweek gasped and Kenny felt the telltale little clench beneath his fingers. “I don’t feel nothing,” he said. “Do you?” He applied just a little bit more pressure and massaged the area. Tweek actually _squealed_ then, and gripped his shoulder tight.

“ _No,_ ” he cried. “Oh, _no…_ ”

“I think yes,” Kenny taunted him. He gave the area another press and Tweek whined and shoved out at him with his feet. Not quite hard enough to be a kick, but definitely enough to tell Kenny that it was time to back off. He ruffled Tweek’s hair again and kissed him on the forehead.

“It’s—it’s just _too_ much,” Tweek panted out. “Too much, _nnn,_ too much _good,_ y’know?”

“Oh yeah,” Kenny replied. “Believe me, I definitely know what too much of a good thing is.” He peeled off the remaining glove and tossed it into the wastebasket. “I’m gonna go check on our little bitch boy now, okay?”

“ _Uh-huh._ ” Tweek’s eyes looked a little hazy. He was still breathless. Kenny pecked him tenderly on the mouth.

“Don’t touch anything,” he reminded, and walked out of the bedroom and down the hall. Craig wasn’t in the office and he wasn’t in the playroom, either—not that Kenny _expected_ him to be, but it was good to cover all their bases. He strolled downstairs and found Craig sulking on the couch with a hand down his pants. God almighty.

“Hey,” Kenny greeted him. Craig’s eyes snapped open and he pulled his hand away from himself.

“What.”

“Just came to see how you were doing,” Kenny replied. “What’s the matter?”

“Why would you think anything’s the matter,” griped Craig.

“Uh, because you’re down here pathetically masturbating by yourself on the couch, instead of playing with us?” Kenny patted Craig’s calves and Craig _sighed_ like this was all very inconveniencing to him, before he shifted around and sat up. Kenny plopped down next to him. “C’mon,” Kenny said, and looped an arm around Craig’s thin waist before settling his head on his shoulder. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s _wrong._ ”

“Yeah, okay,” said Kenny, and he scooted his body just a bit closer. He’d fucking wrap himself around Craig like a koala climbing a tree if it meant he could annoy him into communicating whatever had him pouting like a little bitch. “Let’s pretend I already asked that a bunch of times and you kept insisting there was nothing wrong, but I still don’t believe you. So, now what?”

“Look,” Craig stated, and closed his eyes. “I’m just not like you two. Okay? You have all this weird shit you’re into and I can’t be a part of it.”

“Says who?”

“I’m just too vanilla for all this. Maybe you should just find somebody else.”

“Craig, my love,” Kenny stated, “you just let us spitroast you like, two days ago. Last week, you let Tweek spank you with a leather-covered paddle while I jerked off all over your face and then fed it to you with my fingers. You’re not vanilla.”

“Well,” Craig started to protest.

“We got you that fucking cage for your birthday and you practically nutted the first time Tweek locked you in there. And remember when you guys both tied me up, together, and took turns riding my dick without letting me get off? That was so fucking romantic, just watching the energy between you two. Brought a tear to my eye and everything. Oh, and don’t forget about the inflatable ass plug—”

“Yeah, okay,” Craig cut him off. “Okay. But that stuff’s tame compared to some of the other shit you guys do. I can’t stomach watching you torture his dick like that. I actually started getting sympathy pains. That’s why I had to leave.”

“Craig,” Kenny sighed. “This is why you should have done your fucking homework, like I asked you to. Which, by the way, was supposed to mean that you were wanted there.”

“It scared me,” said Craig. “You got me to admit it. Congratulations.”

“I know what I’m doing, dude,” said Kenny. “Because, y’know, I wanted to try what Tweek asked for and I read up on the shit he sent me.”

“There’s no amount of literature that’s going to make me enjoy watching that level of masochism,” Craig retorted. “Sorry.”

Kenny barked out a laugh. “Masochism? You think this is about _pain?_ Really?”

“Well,” and Kenny could see Craig’s face was getting a little pink, “he sounded like he was in it.”

“Wow,” said Kenny. “You really are dumb.”

“He sounded like it,” Craig repeated. He was getting that look on his face like he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on here. Kenny patted his knee. “Okay, fine, I guess he wasn’t, but I still couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Tweek practically blew his load when I tickled his taint,” said Kenny. “I mean, or he would have, if his dick weren’t stopped up.” Craig grimaced at that. “But seriously, it was hot, and I know he wants you there. So when you don’t wanna be a baby no more, you’re more than welcome to come back and join us.” Kenny unwrapped himself from around his partner and rose to his feet.

“Ugh,” went Craig, and then he stood up, too. “Fine.”

“I mean, you don’t _have_ to if it really does make you squeamish,” said Kenny. “Tweek’ll understand. But I think you’re missing out on something special here. When have either of you ever come up with something kinky that I haven’t done myself before? This is fucking monumental, my friend.”

“I said I’d go with you.” Craig’s tone was short, but then he was slipping his hand into Kenny’s, almost like it was a secret. Kenny chuckled with nothing but affection, and they went back up to their triple-dog-dare bedroom together.

When they opened the door, Tweek was lying back against the pillows, slowly running his hand up and down his cock. His entire body was on vibrate mode and seemingly, with every motion, a litany of breathy moans escaped him. He jerked a little in surprise but he did not stop, upon the realization that he got caught, and instead sat up to fix his gaze on the both of them together. He was fully aroused, that much was clear, and he didn’t look like he intended to stop playing with himself any time soon, either. His eyes were clouded, his pupils dilated.

“Damn it, Tweek,” Kenny playfully scolded him. “I told you not to touch anything.”

“I didn’t,” Tweek breathed out. “ _Nnh—_ I didn’t, except for myself.”

“Shit,” Craig panted. He pulled away from Kenny and immediately went to the bed, tangled his fingers through Tweek’s golden hair and sealed their mouths together. Tweek moaned against his mouth and let go of his cock so that he could take Craig’s hand and press it there instead. He wrapped his fingers around his lover’s and encouraged him to take up the task of stroking. Kenny licked his lips as he watched it happen. Craig slowly, carefully caressed him and buried his face in Tweek’s hair, who promptly leaned over and started undoing Craig’s pants.

“Yep,” Kenny observed, unable to stop himself from dropping in a sassy comment, “that’s definitely what it looks like when someone’s in pain.”

“Shut up,” Craig muttered into Tweek’s hair. His hips lightly bucked forward when Tweek’s hand went into his pants, and the little flicks of Tweek’s wrist showed Kenny that he’d started to jerk him off, too.

“He was pulling his pud and sulking downstairs,” Kenny went on. “That’s why he’s hard already.”

“What the Hell is wrong with you, Craig?” Tweek’s voice was all raspy with desire, even with the snippy question.

“I don’t know,” admitted Craig. He let go of Tweek’s dick, which sort of flopped forward, and wrapped his arms around him instead.

“I want more,” whined Tweek. When Craig immediately reached down to give more attention to his cock, Tweek shifted his hips away and clarified: “More of, _nnn, this._ ” He tapped the end of the sound that was jutting out from him.

“More sounds good,” said Kenny. “ _Sounds_ good. Get it?” He snapped on another pair of gloves. “Craig, why don’t you pull it out of him this time.”

Craig winced. “Shouldn’t I have on the gloves?”

“Nah,” said Kenny. “It’s coming out of him now, not going in. Tweek, baby, lie back on the bed.” Tweek did as he was told. Craig pinched the end of the rod in his fingers, but he still looked apprehensive. “Go slow,” Kenny guided him. “There’s no rush. Just ease it out like you would, I dunno, a dildo or cucumber or something.”

“Okay,” said Craig. Tweek reached up and rubbed his shoulder, which brought a little smile out of him. Adorable. Craig very carefully began to pull the rod out of him. Tweek threw his head back against the pillows and moaned.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Tweek cried out as Craig gradually eased it out of him. “Oh god, _nnn,_ I-I’m gonna come.”

“No you won’t,” Kenny promised him. “Just relax. Craig, don’t forget it’s got that curve near the end, so follow the way it bends.” With a bit more patience, the end of the rod finally slid out of Tweek and, almost immediately, a gush of precome followed.

“Holy _shit._ ” Craig was utterly mesmerized as he watched the thin clear syrup roll down Tweek’s cock and trickle onto his thigh. Tweek was panting, his face flushed like he really _did_ come. “Did you come on the inside, honey?” he asked, cupping his cheek.

“ _Nnnh._ I don’t even know!” Tweek let out a soft moan and ran his fingers through Craig’s short black hair, smoothing it back as he bent down like he was gonna take Tweek’s cock in his mouth.

“Wait, wait wait,” Kenny quickly stopped him. “Hang on. Don’t put your tongue on the head. Bacteria or whatever. Just move it down the sides.” Craig did just that: he closed his eyes and set about licking Tweek’s shaft clean as best he could. With the noises he made it was like he was drinking fucking ambrosia right off his skin. Kenny immediately decided that wasn’t fair and he wanted a taste, too, so he tugged Craig back and kissed him hard. The sweetness of Tweek’s sugary essence was dulled on his partner’s tongue, but Kenny licked at him anyway. Tweek whimpered in that huffy, impatient way of his. “All right, all right.” Kenny drew back. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

“And here we go,” he said cheerfully as he picked up the largest and thickest of them all. Craig actually looked like he was going to faint, which just made him laugh. Tweek made a growling noise, one of frustration, and kicked at him. “No,” Kenny said as he placed it down again. “But seriously.”

“Just looking at that one makes my erection go away, man!” huffed Tweek. Kenny kissed him on the cheek.

“No it doesn’t. Okay, here we go.”

This time, Craig watched intently as the second-to-thinnest rod inched its way down into Tweek’s urethra. Tweek’s reactions were not unlike the ones he had before, though he looked a little less taken aback by them. He _was_ whimpering and squirming more than he had been, though. “ _Oh,_ ” he groaned. “ _Oh god._ It—it burns a little more! Just a little more.”

“We can stop if it’s too much,” Craig said gently. He had maneuvered himself so that he was sitting behind Tweek, with Tweek nestled between his legs and his back pressed to Craig’s chest. Honestly, this was the most vulnerable Kenny could recall seeing Tweek during playtime. Most of the time, he was the one helping Kenny come up with crazy ideas and then he’d either assist Kenny in doling them out on Craig, or _Craig_ in doling them out on _Kenny._ There were the rare occasions where he’d let one of them fuck him, which only ever happened on those chances where Tweek was alone with one of them—the other away on business or for whatever reason. As much as they tried to spend as much time together as they could, reality and the pressures of adulthood just wouldn’t allow for them to be completely inseparable. It was healthy, anyhow, for them to flourish apart as well as together.

At any rate, Tweek always seemed to have some kind of complex when it came to letting his guard down for both of them at the same time. Something about it making him feel like he was put on the spot, uncomfortable and exposed. Kenny had long since accepted that about him, though it did cause friction with Craig on more than one occasion. (Craig was also an idiot.) But the way he was vulnerable for them here, letting Craig hold him while Kenny stuck unmentionables up his dickhole, there was something beautiful about it. Something magical. It touched the cockles of Kenny’s walled-off heart and made it grow two sizes that day, or some bullshit.

Tweek moaned and stroked himself once the rod was in him, felt along his length and then reached out to take Kenny’s hand. “I can feel it in me,” he panted. “Can’t you?” Kenny squeezed, lightly, and felt the hard resistance of the steel. It was faint, subtle underneath all that flesh, blood and tissue, but there was something powerful about it too. Like boots that you knew had steel built into the toes so they could wreck the shit out of you. He grinned.

“There it is, baby,” he said, and kissed him on the cheek. Craig reached out and Kenny moved his hand so he could feel along Tweek’s cock, too.

“Cool.”

Tweek just snorted. He closed his eyes and played around with himself a little. “I want to watch you _fuck_ him,” he hissed out.

“I’m down with that idea,” Kenny replied, “but who’s fucking who?”

“Him!” Tweek patted Craig’s arm, and then pointed directly at Kenny. “He’s fucking _you,_ Kenny.”

“Yeah,” Kenny agreed. He peeled off the gloves and already started taking off his clothes. “I’m _really_ fucking down with that, and I know you are too, aren’t ya honey?” Craig rolled his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t nut in your pants or anything,” Kenny remarked with feigned bitterness. Craig carefully dislodged himself from Tweek’s body and Tweek settled back against the pillows again, gaze fully trained on the both of them as Kenny perched nude on the bed and Craig quickly stripped. As soon as they were both buttfucking naked, Kenny slipped his legs around Craig’s waist and urged him closer by way of digging his heels into his skinny ass. Craig leaned over him and they kissed, long and hard and Kenny eagerly rolled his hips so that his ass rubbed up against Craig’s big dick. He’d been a size queen since the beginning and Craig, luckily, fit into that dream guy fantasy quite well, even if he was an uptight prick the rest of the time. “C’mon, big boy,” Kenny teased. “Let’s get that big dick in me.”

“I want it doggy-style!” interjected Tweek. Both of them automatically turned their heads to look at him. He was slowly, steadily stroking his hand up and down his cock. “That way you can both look at me!”

“Well, look at the attention whore,” Kenny quipped with a click of his tongue. He rolled over onto all fours and grinned up at Tweek when he felt the weight of the bed shift behind him, and Craig’s hands took him by the hips. There came the sloppy noises of lubing up and then Kenny felt a finger slip up his ass. He grunted and pushed his hips back. “Just get it in,” he said. “C’mon, you know I’m ready for it. Smash the fuck outta me.” Craig didn’t say a word, just pulled his hand back and before Kenny knew it, there was his cock, rubbing up against his hole and then pressing its way in. “ _Uhn,_ yeah,” he groaned. “That’s what we’re fuckin’ made of. Fuck my ass, Craig.”

Tweek was watching them both, quiet save for the pleasured noises that escaped him as he masturbated to the sight before him and the weird, foreign but apparently _spectacular_ intrusion up his pisshole. “This good, babe?” came Craig’s low, sultry voice from above _and_ behind Kenny, and he couldn’t help but snicker. Craig was clearly addressing Tweek, not him. And Tweek didn’t respond back to him with words, only nodded.

“It’s great,” Kenny answered too, amusement having coloured his tone. Craig’s big hands held on tightly to his hips and he rocked into Kenny’s ass in slow strokes. Instead of remaining on his hands, Kenny dropped down to his forearms and moaned like a slut for him, spread his legs and arched back against him. His head dropped low between his shoulders and the sheets rustled as Tweek leaned forward and took him by the chin.

“Nuh-uh,” he scolded. “Look at me. You gotta be looking at me for it to work, Kenny!”

“For _what_ to work?” Kenny didn’t argue with him, though, only lifted his head again and fixated right on Tweek’s body, his moving hand, the glazed calm in his eyes that also gave way to certain power, power he knew he held over both of them and he played against it quite frequently. Kenny’s tongue darted out over his lips. “Nah,” he said. “If I’m gonna watch, you gotta make it worth my while, baby.”

“I’m already touching myself!” Tweek shot back. “ _Nnn,_ and—and I don’t wanna finger my ass! I feel like that’ll spoil it!”

“You don’t need to finger your ass,” replied Kenny. “Remember what I did earlier with the rod and you went fucking crazy?”

“ _Ngh._ This?” Tweek lifted his balls up and poked at the tender swath of skin underneath them.

“No, baby,” Kenny coaxed him. “The other thing. With the end of it.” Kenny could swear he saw his pupils flare. Wordlessly, Tweek pinched the end of the rod between his fingertips, carefully pulled it up and shuddered hard before letting it slip back down again. Kenny gave a slow, pointed nod of affirmation.

“ _Nnnh,_ ” went Tweek. “It’s—it’s almost too much, I… _fuck…_ ” But he did it again. His legs twitched against the bed. Kenny heard Craig moan quietly above him, as if in appreciation.

“That’s why I wanna see it,” said Kenny. “Fuck your cock with it, baby. C’mon. That’s what I wanna see.”

“Shit,” cried Tweek. He did as he was told, gently moved the sounding rod inside him, stimulated the nerves within the base of his dick and—thanks to the device’s curved shape—the little nub further back that, up until now, could have only been reached with his fingers up his ass, or if one of them was lucky enough to get him alone. He spread his legs wide and openly moaned, practically sobbed as he toyed with himself over and over. From the way Craig was grunting and gasping above him, thrusting up against Kenny’s ass in short bursts, Kenny could tell he was getting off from the sight, too. There was no fucking doubt left that it was doing anything _but_ giving him pleasure. Still, Kenny wanted to indulge in just that extra bit of teasing.

“Does it hurt?” he cooed. Tweek shook his head. “Nah, use your words, Tweek.”

“ _No,_ ” Tweek choked out. “ _Yes. Nnnn._ I don’t—don’t want it to _stop_ —”

“I know you don’t,” Kenny replied, his voice kind, “but it will. That’s why you gotta savour it while it lasts.”

“I—” Tweek sobbed. “I—I _know._ ”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Kenny heard Craig hiss out from above him.

“Craig likes watching you,” Kenny told him. “You like knowing that? That you’re driving Craig fucking crazy over here?” Tweek nodded fiercely, and a tear dripped down his cheek. “He gets all bent outta shape when he thinks we’re hurting you. He’s a good man.” Kenny shifted his weight, sort of rolled himself against one side as he fumbled around behind him for one of Craig’s hands, which he brought to his mouth and kissed first the palm, then nipped playfully at his fingers.

“You— _mm_ —you drive me crazy too,” said Craig. “Fucking asshole.”

“That goes without saying,” Kenny remarked once he let Craig have his hand back again. He smiled when he felt Craig card his fingers through his hair, then gathered up a handful and _tugged._ “Fuck, yeah,” Kenny growled out. “You should slap my ass, too.” He did; the sound ricocheted through their room, and Tweek let out a pleased little mewl of his own.

“You’re not,” he gasped out, “h-hurting— _nnn._ You’re not.” The steel rod kept steadily dipping into him and Tweek’s noises of pleasure became more urgent, impassioned. His whole body was wracked with delicious tremors and Kenny wanted to touch him again, but he was getting pounded pretty fucking fierce, too, so he could do nothing but drop his face and moan against the mattress. Then he remembered Tweek’s request, and quickly jerked his head up.

“Let’s see you— _ah, fuck_ —come, let’s see you come from this. C’mon, baby.”

“I can’t,” Tweek sobbed out, as if he really were trapped within these simple moves of his, doomed to forever be rubbing his dick on the inside and letting his balls swell up and never finding relief from it. Like he was going to be on the edge for the rest of his life. It was a pretty damn hot mental picture, all things considered, even if it were materially impossible.

“Y-yes, _ah,_ yes you can,” Kenny gasped out real quick. “Just take it out, remember? Take it out.”

“Oh, _god!_ ” Tweek shouted like last time, except he wasn’t nearly as loud about as he was now. It really did sound pained this time, and even Craig stopped out of concern. Kenny felt his cock twitch impatiently, like it had a life of its own and had just been cruelly and unfairly denied.

“Too much?” Kenny asked. “Hey, you alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m, _nnnn,_ I’m okay,” Tweek rasped. “I’m j— _nnngh!_ ” He scrunched his eyes up and whimpered as the thing gradually slid free of him, and then his mouth fell open, and as soon as it popped entirely free of him he let out all the breath at once he’d clearly been holding in. His face was pink, his forehead glistened with sweat as he heaved in a few deep breaths. Craig still hadn’t started moving again. Kenny was sure if he looked up and behind him, he’d catch that stricken look he got whenever Tweek took things too far: either because he was overwhelmed with pleasure he didn’t think possible, or Tweek committed some crazy feat he hadn’t expected, _or_ —just like before—Tweek was hurt and he was worried to the point of being scared shitless.

Of course, when Tweek immediately started jerking on himself, Kenny felt Craig relax entirely. “All right, babe,” he said over his shoulder. “Coast is clear. You can start fucking me again any time now.” He punctuated this with a rock of his hips. Tweek giggled, breathlessly.

“Shut up,” said Craig, but he did as he was told. Kenny rolled his weight onto one shoulder again and reached down to pull at his own cock.

“C’mere, Tweek,” he said quickly. “C’mere ‘n lessee how much we can get in my mouth.”

“There’s, _agh,_ there’s gonna be a lot! Oh god, there’s gonna be a lot! I can tell!” Tweek urged himself closer on his knees and sat down on his haunches again. His hand worked rapidly on himself as sharp cries pierced through his throat, and Kenny opened his mouth and let his tongue hang out. Tweek hadn’t been lying about there being a lot. It splattered onto Kenny’s lips and chin and fell all over the bed between them. Tweek sank back, dazed, while Kenny licked his lips clean. Craig pulled out and Kenny listened to his choked-off little moans as he spilled all over Kenny’s lower back. Once he was done Kenny scooted closer to Tweek who hugged his head into his chest, and Craig lazily sucked him off until he was coming down Craig’s throat. Naturally, Craig swallowed every drop of him, because it was second nature at that point and—well, he was their cumslut, so it was to be expected.

“Damn,” Kenny breathed out after several moments of comfortable silence, and many swabbed tissues between them. Tweek was curled up in the middle of their bodies and Craig was casually petting his hair.

“Mmm.” Tweek nuzzled into Kenny’s neck.

“So, what’d you think?”

“I wanna try it on you next time,” said Tweek. “Can I?”

“You have shitty coordination and I don’t think I can trust you,” Kenny said affectionately. “But it’s the thought that counts.”

“Wow,” said Craig.

“Fine,” said Tweek. “Then I get to watch Craig do it, and then I’m the one who fucks Craig.” He curled up with a little yawn, and closed his eyes.

“Think you can handle that?” Kenny asked, and reached out to poke Craig in the arm. Craig slapped his hand away.

“Only if I can film it,” was all he had to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno if it was clear in the narrative, but Tweek is actually the third in this relationship. I think the standard in fandom for this triad has been Creek with Kenny joining in but while writing this, I realized I also really like the idea of Crenny being an item and after a few years of being together they both discover they have a soft spot for Tweek, who in turn adores both of them. Damn it, Kinktober, stop giving me more ideas for fics/AUs when I have shit that still needs to be finished.
> 
> Yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	12. Day 12 - Licking, Pet Play, Rimming & Costumes (Craig/Tweek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some kitty pet play… with a twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, a piece that actually hits all four of the choices for today.
> 
> And I've fallen even more behind. :( But here's some real gay shit.

“Oh, man,” Tweek sighed as soon as they walked through the front door. The scented broom in his hand—meant to be hung as decoration rather than used as a costume prop, but nobody could tell him what to do—was immediately dropped onto one of the end tables by the couch. And then Tweek dropped onto the couch with a groan and brought his hands up to remove the brimmed, pointed hat from his head. He sighed as he ran his hands through his hair and lightly scratched at his scalp. Sure, parties were great and all, and he loved seeing all his friends, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t _drained_ from them by the end of the night.

Also, it felt like half the people he _didn’t_ know there kept hitting on Craig. _His_ Craig. Who was very openly _gay,_ and even if the fishnet top he was wearing wasn’t a giant fucking clue to the girls who kept approaching, the fact he spent most of his time around _his boyfriend_ should have tipped people off. It should have been obvious to the women—and even a few dudes—who Tweek kept discovering were talking to him when he left the bathroom, or momentarily lost him because he wanted to get another drink, or something. It always left him feeling conflicted, because it gave him a little feeling of pride to know people wanted his Craig _this_ badly, apparently, but his body and heart were locked away to one single person, and that lucky bastard just happened to be him. On the other hand, there was always that twinge of, _maybe it’s someone better than me this time,_ would Craig finally twist away in annoyance when he came up and wrapped a possessive arm around his waist, or took his hand and fixed the other party with a steely glare?

But he never did. Never.

The soft rustle of movement caught his eye and Tweek looked up. Craig had vanished into the hall bathroom to wipe off the dark kohl that ringed his eyes and remove the gold, slit-pupil contacts that enhanced them, to carefully peel away the fangs adhered to his canines. That wasn’t all he’d done, though. He’d stripped down to the silk black g-string only Tweek knew was hidden beneath his skin-tight leather pants, and the tail was gone too, but not the fluffy black ears perched atop his head all night, or the velvety black gloves on his hands. He had something in his mouth, and Tweek knew immediately what it was, even before he patted the couch next to him with a grin and Craig made his way over. He wasn’t crawling, not _yet,_ but once he curled up onto the couch next to his owner he gently laid the item in Tweek’s lap and the little bell hung from it gave a pleasant jingle. Tweek giggled and carded his fingers through Craig’s soft black hair. He responded by laying his head against Tweek’s thigh, tongue rolling in a light purr.

“Nice kitty,” said Tweek. “But we have to put one more thing on you, before the collar! Do you know what that is?”

In response, Craig seized the discarded hat in his teeth. Tweek shook his head.

“No,” he said in a light but scolding tone. Craig ignored him, and tugged the hat closer to him, laid it down in Tweek’s lap. “That’s not it,” said Tweek. “What am I supposed to put on you now?”

“Meow,” Craig said flatly, and leaned up to lick his ear. Tweek gave a little yelp. Craig reached out and lightly batted at Tweek’s hat.

“Hmm.” Tweek pulled it back onto his head. “ _Nn,_ is this what you were trying to tell me?” Craig nuzzled at his hand. Tweek got up to his feet. His robes had gotten somewhat bunched up under him, but they fell to his ankles when he stood up. “That doesn’t answer my previous question, though!”

Craig slid down to the floor and made a show of winding himself around Tweek’s ankles on all fours. Tweek leaned down to scratch behind an ear, and Craig responded by bending low and running his tongue across the top of Tweek’s bare foot. Tweek gasped, and then he felt a little nibble on his big toe. He immediately jerked his foot back and snapped his fingers.

“No!” he said. “Don’t do that! Go into the bedroom!” Craig stared at him for a moment, then crawled toward the hallway. He moved slowly, leisurely, like he had all the time in the fucking world. Tweek felt a pleasant little twinge down below as he watched him, the way his underwear left very little to the imagination: the silk string pushed up into his crack and his rather sizeable cock barely confined by the soft fabric. Tweek almost wanted to reach down and let his fingertips play against the silk, the warmth from them seeping through. But he refrained.

Craig climbed up onto the bed and stretched out on his stomach. Tweek smiled. “Good!” he said. “Good, good kitty, you know what you need now, huh?” Craig didn’t say anything, just pressed his face into the mattress and arched his back. From the closet, Tweek pulled out precisely what he was looking for: a long, fluffy black tail attached to a silvery butt plug. He’d initially wanted Craig to wear this to the party, but quickly realized it would probably be too obvious, and how would he get it through his pants, anyway? The g-string wouldn’t do for public consumption, either. And so Craig only wore the sort he could pin to his belt loop, but now they were home, and now he could really take his rightful place at Tweek’s side as his beloved pet. Tweek reached over to stroke the top of his head.

“Good boy,” he quietly praised him. He’d always been more of a cat person. Dogs always seemed to require constant attention, constant validation and constant praise. The language of baby talk was a universal constant for them. But cats were nice and quiet, selective with who they chose to bond with, and _independent._ They did whatever the fuck they wanted. This was true even of Tweek’s playtime with Craig: he did these things with him because he wanted to. Not because he’d been given an order. Tweek may have exerted the ultimate authority when it came to his discipline, but in many instances, the cat owned his master, too. Tweek slicked up the plug and pried Craig’s cheeks apart with his fingers. Craig responded by spreading his long legs and Tweek nudged the toy up against him.

A sharp hiss of breath was all that came from Craig when the plug slipped into his asshole; not one he’d put on to play the part, but a real and true reaction. It tugged at Tweek’s chest and bloomed all the way down between his legs. He tugged the string back into place best he could, but it curved around the tail as it protruded from him. Tweek decided to leave it like that. He gave the furry tail a light tug at its base, and a low growl issued from his pet in response.

“You don’t like it when I pull your tail, huh?” Tweek remarked, unable to hold back the bit of sass. Craig got up again and turned around to face him. Tweek smiled and reached out to scratch him gently under his chin, and stroked his fingers along the side of his jaw. Craig closed his eyes and canted his head into it. Tweek slipped the collar around his neck and buckled it shut, then rubbed up over the nape of Craig’s neck and into his scalp again. The bell jingled pleasantly with his movements. When he pulled his hand back, Craig opened his eyes to stare at him in silence. “What?” Tweek asked sweetly. But Craig only blinked at him. He crawled up close and nuzzled his face along Tweek’s cheek, lightly bumping his head into the brim of Tweek’s hat in the process. Tweek laughed softly and reached up to adjust it.

“Okay!” he said. For a second he thought Craig was going to kiss him, but instead he just darted his tongue out for a soft lick against his cheek. It made him giggle. “ _Craig,_ ” he laughed. “What the Hell are you doing?” Another slow lick, this one at the corner of his mouth. Tweek turned his head and caught it with his own, and they kissed for a moment, slow and warm. It stirred the heat within him further, and Tweek found himself moaning softly against his lover’s mouth while his hands slid over his naked back. When they disconnected from each other, Craig immediately got down from the bed, and crawled back out of the room. Tweek’s tongue darted over his lower lip when he caught sight of the thickened bulge between his legs, and the way his tail swished along his thighs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked playfully as he followed Craig. Craig didn’t respond, only wandered into the kitchen and sat expectantly in the middle of the floor. “Okay,” Tweek said with a grin. “You were a good kitty, so you get a treat!” He got a bowl down from the cabinet and then promptly opened up the freezer to dig into the ice cream. “ _Nn,_ this’s what you want?” Craig responded by butting up against Tweek’s legs and purring up at him. He poked his way between them and Tweek laughed at him.

“Stop that!” he said. “I’m getting your food!” Of course, Craig didn’t stop, and wound his way around Tweek’s legs in a circle until finally Tweek huffed in annoyance and set the bowl down. “ _There._ ” He shook his head, but another grin made its way onto his face when Craig lowered his head and mouthed at the sweet cream. It was homemade, part of a franchise Tweek was hoping to try and develop in an effort to move past _Tweek Bros._ simply existing as a place to buy coffee. Craig was the biggest fan of the stuff, but Tweek suspected there was some bias going on there. Still, he slurped and lapped up the ice cream like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life, and Tweek enjoyed watching him like that, with his head bowed, his hands pressed flat to the floor and his cute ass in the air. Tweek ran a hand down his back, and he subtly arched his spine in delight when Tweek scratched right at the base of it, just above his tailbone. Craig lifted his ass even higher into the affectionate caresses, and it was rewarded with a gentle pat.

“Is it good?” Tweek asked him, even though he knew Craig wouldn’t answer. When he was finished, he straightened himself up. Bits of it were smeared on his chin and nose. Tweek quickly wet a washcloth. “Hold still,” he said when Craig tried to turn his face away. “ _Rrgh._ I have to wipe your face, Craig!” When he scrubbed the bit off his nose Craig jerked his head back with a sulky look on his face. “There,” Tweek said. “All done!” Without even thanking him or so much as looking at the dirty dish on the floor _or_ his owner, his spoiled brat of a pet promptly turned and padded out of the room on his hands and knees. The bell jingled defiantly.

Tweek followed him.

Craig climbed up onto the couch and sat with his legs tucked under him, hands pressed to the cushion like they really were paws. Tweek sat down beside him and he shifted forward until he was draped over Tweek’s lap, arms folded neatly with easy access provided to his head, back and shoulders. It was the closest he’d come to _really_ curling up in Tweek’s lap, since he was much too big, but Tweek's precious cat always did enjoy lying on him like this. Tweek smiled and reached up to remove his hat again, hands running through his hair before he set it down on the arm of the couch. Craig reached out with a curled hand and lazily batted at it. “ _No,_ ” Tweek said, firmly but filled with endearment, too, and he nudged Craig’s arm away.

Craig lightly touched his arm with a velvety paw and bumped his head against Tweek’s hand. “If you want me to pet you,” Tweek scolded him, “you have to be good!” Craig stared up at him, but then Tweek’s fingers were in his hair, and he dropped his head again.

They sat like that for a while, and Tweek lazily flipped through the TV channels with his other hand. As always, cable television provided a bounty of absolutely nothing worthwhile to watch. He settled on what looked to be a documentary about bees and casually stroked Craig’s back in long, slow movements as he watched. Between the narrator’s smooth British voice, the faint hum of tiny wings and the repetitive stroking motions over Craig’s skin, Tweek was starting to become very relaxed—though it was also difficult to _fully_ concentrate. Craig’s eyes were closed in dozy contentment for a short while, but then he started getting mischievous again, turning his head to nose at Tweek’s tummy. Tweek bit his lip.

“Stop that,” he said. Craig shifted his weight and pulled back slightly so his cheek was directly pressed against Tweek’s groin. He nuzzled at it through Tweek’s robe, and Tweek exhaled. Craig seized the bottom of the garment in his teeth. There was a vague chill as he tugged it up Tweek’s thighs, who quickly smoothed it back down with a glare, and dislodged it from Craig’s mouth in the process. Craig looked up him in disapproval, then slipped down to the floor and ambled away. “ _Hey!_ ” Tweek didn’t even bother to hide the indignant note in his voice. But Craig wouldn’t come back, he knew he wouldn’t, and the loss of his warmth in Tweek’s lap was something he felt deeply. It actually made him feel a bit sad. He got up and followed the sound of Craig’s clanging little bell to find him back in the bedroom, curled up on the bed with his back to the door.

“Craig?”

Was he not feeling well? Did he no longer want to play like this? Tweek reached out and lightly ran a hand over his side. In response, Craig rolled over, and then he _pounced,_ pushed Tweek right on his back. Tweek, who never did well with being startled, let out a shriek. Craig gave a small start like that startled _him,_ but then he ducked his head and nipped along Tweek’s jaw, down his neck, licking and biting. “ _Stop!_ ” Tweek cried, but he couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice. He squirmed around and caught sight of the pleased, smug little smirk on Craig’s face, the proud look in his expression before his face was buried into Tweek’s neck again. He licked down his skin in small rhythmic sections, and once he came to the collar of his owner’s robe, he stopped and gave it a light tug with his teeth.

“ _Okay,_ ” Tweek sighed as if he were resigned to this fate, even though he was _very_ excited for whatever was about to happen next. “Hang on!” He sat up and worked the costume off him before dropping it to the floor. Fuck it, he could wash the damn thing later anyway. Craig was immediately on him again, and he nipped Tweek’s chin before proceeding to lick his neck, and then his collarbone, his clavicles, a shoulder, all with a warm tongue. Tweek sighed. It felt good—no, _great—_ very soothing and sweet.

“Are you gonna lick me _all_ over?” he asked. Craig didn’t answer him with words, but moved his way down Tweek’s chest. His tongue painted over him in broad strokes, and then Craig’s mouth was on his nipple, warm breath followed by the swipe of wet. Tweek shivered. Craig didn’t linger there, and Tweek let out a low whine of disappointment. The bell around his pet’s neck gave faint little _ping_ s with every movement of his, and the softness of Craig’s hair along with his fuzzy costume ears brushed along Tweek’s skin. He rubbed his hand over Craig’s head to encourage him. Craig licked his way over to the other nipple and this time, determined to get a little more from him, Tweek sat up slightly and reached down to give the tail a little tug. Craig’s hips twitched—startled, or stimulated, perhaps both?—and he responded with a sharp bite to the tender nub he held in his mouth. Tweek gasped aloud. Craig’s tongue went out again, soothed away the delectable sting that prickled along tender nerves, and then his mouth was gone.

His grooming continued downward. Tweek scratched gently behind Craig’s ear—his _real_ ear—and Craig turned his head to drag his tongue across his arm. He seemed to like the way the light, downy hair felt, because he kept at it, licked him over and over from forearm to wrist. Tweek laughed at him and turned his palm up to touch his fingers to Craig’s lips. He was greeted with the nip of teeth, and then a flicker of tongue, but then Craig sank his teeth into the meaty portion between forefinger and thumb. “Ow!” Tweek tried to tug it away, but Craig held on fast. “ _Hey!_ Let go!” The thought hit him just as quick; he gripped Craig by the nape and _pulled._ Craig immediately let go. Tweek did not.

“ _No,_ ” he scolded sharply, and gave him a little shake. “No.” Craig gave him a sullen glare before he averted his gaze entirely. If he had _real_ cat ears, they surely would have been folded back. Tweek let him go and immediately, Craig returned to his impromptu tongue bath. Down his owner’s torso to his navel, which he lightly nosed at, and then the trail of honey-coloured curls underneath. He licked it once, and then again, and again. Tweek wriggled beneath him; it was an odd combination of abrasive and ticklish. “Stop,” he chuckled through the word, and lightly pressed on Craig’s head. “ _Nn,_ go lower.” And he did—but naturally, not where Tweek wanted him to be. It was his hip, and then his thigh, and his calf. When his tongue swiped over the top of Tweek’s foot, Tweek wiggled it playfully and curled his toes. Craig nipped at his big toe again, like he had earlier. “ _No!_ ” Tweek laughed again, and jerked it back. “Stop _doing_ that!” Craig swiped his tongue over the tops of Tweek’s other toes, almost as an act of defiance. Tweek flexed his foot and bumped it up against the bell on Craig’s collar. It jingled, and Craig pulled his head back, which just rattled it around even more.

“Hmm.” Tweek smirked down at him. Craig shifted to the other foot, licked over the top like he had the other one, though Tweek scrunched it up and yanked it back when he saw Craig was about to bite him again. Craig huffed out a breath that _may_ have been a chuckle of his own, Tweek couldn’t quite tell, but then he was working his way up the length of his leg with broad licks and Tweek shivered and sighed, and spread them both wide. He’d initially been eager for Craig to tug on his briefs with his teeth, but Tweek was rapidly growing impatient: his cock was growing hard and he didn’t want to wait any longer to feel his pet’s mouth on him. Subsequently, he pulled down his underwear and when Craig stopped and stared up at him, Tweek bent his legs and leaned over to pull them off the rest of the way.

Craig didn’t take the hint, though. Or, more accurately: he likely did pick up on the motion yet chose to  _ignore_ it. Instead, he ran his tongue up against where the leg hair grew a little thicker, curlier and darker on Tweek’s upper thigh, and just kept fucking licking him _there,_ over and over. Like he was determined to make that particular patch of hair lie smooth and flat. Tweek whined low in his throat. “ _Agh!_ You’re killing me here!” He shifted closer and squirmed and tried _desperately_ to get Craig to tongue at him just a _little_ higher, a _little_ more to the center, but that tongue only made its way up to the juncture of his thigh and pelvis. Tweek made a long, low noise of frustration in his throat.

“ _Craig,_ ” he whined at him. His fingers were on the nape of his neck and he scratched at the place where it connected to the back of his head, one of Craig’s favourite places to be stroked. What was the secret formula here; what did he want? What did he _need_ to do for him? Or perhaps there was no code to crack at all. Tweek dropped his hand and after a few more seconds of licking, Craig brushed his nose along the little crevice there, and Tweek heard him slowly breathe in. He nosed along Tweek’s balls, and Tweek felt his cheeks immediately grow hot.

“Do I smell good?” he asked, and Craig, apparently enjoying the scent of his owner’s sex, nuzzled up against his groin and breathed him in again. He rested a hand on Tweek’s leg and slowly curled his fingers, flexed them into the flesh of his inner thigh, as he first stroked his balls with his tongue and then moved up and across the length of his shaft. It felt _incredible,_ but it was nearly as torturous as before, because he wanted the full heat of his mouth around him. Tweek rolled his hips upward and Craig was at the head, he licked at the underside and then soothed the aching tip with the flat of his tongue, over and over. Tweek moaned quietly and tried to maneuver into Craig’s mouth, even pressed a hand to the back of his head to tell him, goad him, encourage him but Craig passed it all up in favour of dragging his tongue to Tweek’s navel again, and then he lifted his head.

“ _Ugh,_ ” Tweek groaned. “No, _nnn,_ go down, _really_ go down, please? Be a good kitty for me!” Clearly their definition of a “good kitty” differed, because Craig was pawing at his side. He slipped his velvet-covered fingers underneath Tweek’s body and poked at the side of his rump. Tweek immediately perked up and he rolled over onto his stomach, shifted around so he was comfortable.

Craig seemed satisfied with this, but his mouth wasn’t on Tweek’s backside the way Tweek had been hoping. He felt the bed shift on either side and realized Craig was crouching above him, that he was surrounded by his hands and knees. And without further direction, without further prompting, Tweek heard the little jingle from right behind his head, and then Craig’s mouth was on the back of his neck. “ _Mmm,_ ” he sighed, as Craig lapped over him. Right where the fine hair started, and it felt oddly nice to feel his tongue licking at the roots, then the knob at the top of his spine, and down, over his shoulderblades, licking in cross-sections of him. Craig didn’t draw his tongue along every notch and bone he found, thank god, it would have taken _far_ too long, but he bathed Tweek’s skin in patches of warmth until finally he was at his lower back, and Tweek moaned unabashedly and spread his legs, subtly lifted his ass.

Instead of licking over his cheeks and tormenting him _further_ like Tweek expected, Craig’s tongue laved the little dip of his tailbone, and then he was lapping further down his crack. Tweek gasped sharply, in mingled surprise and delight—and after how badly he’d been left wanting, _why_ did a small part of him still crave being teased?—and Craig licked him in long stripes, from hole to taint, over and over and over. Tweek shuddered and dug his fingers into the mattress, twisted the sheets in his hands. “Oh, _god,_ ” he groaned out, and pressed his ass back into Craig’s face. Craig kept licking him over and over like that, but then he growled softly in his throat, and his attentions shifted into something more precise and deliberate: his tongue rolled back up from behind Tweek’s balls into the tight ring of muscle and squirmed, wiggled, like he was actually rimming him out and not just pretending to bathe him. This delighted Tweek even more and he eagerly canted his hips back, ground against Craig’s face.

“ _Oh,_ that’s good, _nnnh,_ more, _more_ please!” He didn’t know why he was begging, wasn’t he the master here? But that was how Craig had reduced him, and he whimpered and pleaded as that lovely tongue did wonderful things to him, pried him open and dipped inside, and he choked out something incoherent and reached down to touch himself. Craig’s hand was immediately there, batted Tweek away when he’d scarcely circled his cock with a set of trembling fingers. “But,” Tweek fussed. “ _But…_ ”

“But I’m gonna fuck you,” Craig murmured. Tweek moaned loudly at that, not just at the idea but at how Craig clearly wanted this so badly he was willing to break character to _speak,_ and Tweek was rolling his hips against his mouth. God, he didn’t know if he wanted Craig’s cock or his tongue more.

“ _Nngh,_ yes, fuck me! God, _fuck_ me!” Halfway through that round of begging, the warmth of Craig’s mouth was gone, and Tweek whimpered at the loss of him. But then came a bite at the scruff of Tweek’s neck, and he practically threw his hips back. Craig’s hard cock with its damp tip brushed up against the back of his thigh, just at the curve of his cheek—when the Hell he got rid of his g-string, Tweek had no fucking clue, but he didn’t even care. He heard the thump of the nightstand drawer and the familiar sounds of lubing up, of Craig’s breathing, hot and damp against the back of his neck. “Jesus,” Tweek panted. “Get it in me!”

He did; Craig wasted no time in entering him, and Tweek moaned and pushed himself back, eager to be filled up entirely. After a few slow strokes to get settled and find the depth he was clearly seeking out, Craig thrust up hard; Tweek was practically putty underneath him as he squirmed and arched backwards and opened up, all just for him. “Do—” and he choked on his words, “ _nnn!_ Do you still have the tail?”

“Yep,” Craig replied, and stopped briefly with a whoosh of breath. Tweek hoisted himself up a little and peeked down to try and see between their mingled legs. He saw it, when Craig fucked into him again, and again, the fluffy black plume flashing into sight over and over. Tweek practically drooled when he thought of it stimulating Craig’s hole while his _own_ got mounted and fucked, and he whipped a pillow down beneath him for extra leverage before flopping back down onto his stomach. Craig’s hand was on his shoulder and he still felt velvet, hot from the friction between them, Craig must have only removed one to slick up his cock. Tweek felt the weight of him rest against his back as Craig leaned down again; he turned his head as best he could to nuzzle against his hair. Neither of them could speak. His pet, partner, _lover_ was too busy channeling all that pent-up energy into completely and utterly  _railing_ him, and Tweek was making enough noise for both of them, practically on the verge of screaming. No—he _did_ scream, pressed his face down into another of the pillows and let himself go with it, he hoped Craig would understand. Craig, who had mounted him, who was pounding him raw, whose heavy balls slapped up against him like he was trying to fucking _breed_ him.

It was abrupt and without warning, the way he suddenly tensed up against Tweek’s back and then his teeth sank into the scruff of Tweek’s neck. Tweek shouted in response, couldn’t very well push his face back down to suffocate his cries, Craig held him too tightly, and even as soon as the little pulses of wet ceased inside him, Craig still had him by his grip. Only it wasn’t his jaws anymore but the velvet, it encased and stroked hard even in the afterglow of his own release. Tweek barely had time to reflect on the sweet attentiveness of his partner before he was coming all over his gloved hand.

“Jesus,” he managed to whisper hoarsely, and coughed a little, throat sore from all the noise he had made. He was lying in the wet spot but he didn’t even care. Craig lay beside him, also struggling to catch his breath. After a few moments of silence followed, pierced only by their rapid-fire breaths slowly cooling in the aftermath together, Tweek turned his head and shifted a little closer so he could rest it against Craig’s shoulder. “Wow.” It was another whisper.

“Yeah.” Craig pressed a kiss to his temple. His cat ears were askew. Tweek was surprised they hadn’t fallen off entirely, but he reached up and tugged them off before running his fingers through Craig’s hair.

“Should I—mm?” Tweek gestured toward Craig’s ass, where the tail still stuck out of him. Craig shrugged. His haunches tensed up when Tweek playfully flicked it.

“I think I’ll keep it in for a little while longer,” he said, and then curled up against Tweek and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if there are grammatical errors, I'll fix them as I see them. It was midnight and my eyeballs hurt.
> 
> Yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	13. Day 13 - Distant/Distracted Sex (Craig/Kenny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny really sucks at aural sex work, so Craig lends a helping hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Must... catch... up...

“Hello? Yeah. Oh, I’m good. I’m real good. How ‘bout you, stud?”

Craig, who was seated at the foot of the bed with a manga book propped against his knees, rolled his eyes. It had been like this for a few weeks now: Kenny insisted he never had any privacy at home, and this business was lucrative, _really_ lucrative, he just needed to borrow Craig’s room sometimes.

 _Well, I don’t care if_ **_you_ ** _hear me, dipshit,_ Kenny remarked upon Craig’s disapproval of the idea. He did not want to be ousted from his bedroom just so Kenny could moan into his stupid headset. Besides, what if his parents overheard? He definitely didn’t want the last few months before leaving for college to be awkward between him and the rest of his family. _They’ll probably just think it’s us banging,_ Kenny was quick to point out, a shit-eating grin on his face.

If Craig’s parents _did_ overhear what was going on in that bedroom, then the ridiculous noises and fake dirty talk spilled into the phone would _definitely_ have tipped them off to something amiss. Because Kenny didn’t sound like that when he had Craig’s dick in his ass. In fact, Craig was pretty certain _nobody_ sounded like that. _You’re the shittiest actor I’ve ever met in my life,_ Craig told him after the first session. _I’m never letting you do this to me again._

This was the sixth time.

“Just chilling after class,” Kenny continued on, a honeyed quality to his words. It was not sexy at all. Whoever called the hotline Kenny worked for, obviously they wanted to talk to a _boy,_ a young man, not some effeminate piece of shit. Craig felt the hot prickle of secondhand embarrassment creep up the back of his neck. “Nah, I’m in college.” Either Kenny could read his mind, or he picked up on the distaste in the caller’s voice, because his vernacular and tone both immediately shifted. “Just general studies right now. I’m a freshman. I’ll figure out what I wanna do eventually.”

Craig turned one of the pages. The conversation only clattered on like that for another moment or two, Kenny having invented some ridiculous false description of himself as a college football player. Then Kenny leaned back against the pillows, and pushed his shirt up to expose his nipples. When he caught Craig looking at him, he pinched one of them wantonly but did not acknowledge him. “Yeah, I’m pretty horny. I usually jerk off when I get home. There’s a lot of hot guys here. But I gotta stay in the closet for my scholarship. It sucks.” Kenny licked his fingers and rolled one of the nubs between them. “Yeah, I got my hand in my pants right now.”

This was getting outright pathetic. Craig set his book down carefully on the floor, then edged himself closer to Kenny until he was between his legs. Kenny gave him a quizzical look, one eyebrow raised. Craig popped open the button of his jeans and seized the zipper in his fingers. The palette of emotion on Kenny’s face was priceless: first his eyes flared wide, then they narrowed, and a slow grin spread over his face.

“Yeah,” he said into the phone, “I’m taking it out right now.” Craig pulled open his pants and reached into them, fumbled around for his cock and tugged it through the opening of his briefs. Kenny was already half-hard, warming further against his hand. Craig gave it a couple of slow, savoury jacks and rolled his thumb around the tip in a neat circle. Kenny exhaled. “Stroking it,” he said. “I’m already getting hard, yeah.” Craig heard the note of a question from Kenny’s phone, and Kenny gave a low chuckle. “Pretty big, yeah, and thick, but mostly just long. Uh, and it tilts a little to the left.”

Well, he wasn’t lying. Craig rolled his eyes anyway, though, and gave Kenny’s dick a light squeeze. Then he tugged everything down until the waistband of his underwear sat up against Kenny’s taint, so everything could hang out, including his balls. Kenny leaned back against the pillow again with a sigh, and his hardening cock flopped backwards onto his stomach. “Yeah, I love sucking dick. I already wanna suck yours just hearing about it. I’d probably lick all the way down to your balls first and then take it in. You’d totally stretch out my mouth.”

Craig bent forward and took Kenny’s dick in his mouth. He did not do it the way Kenny described, but pulled him in right from the beginning. Kenny let out a shuddering breath and spread his thighs. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Yeah, I’m good at deepthroating. I love swallowing hot cum.” Craig gave the head of him a brief suck before going down, much further, easing more and more of Kenny into him. _He_ wanted to see how much _he_ could take from the get-go. Kenny’s legs shook beneath him, and Craig felt his fingers drag through his hair. The tip butted up against the back of his throat and Craig swallowed back the urge to gag, pulled back a little and exhaled through his nose.

“Yeah, I’m uh, I’m jacking it now.” Kenny’s voice had gotten considerably more exerted. He grunted a little and shifted his weight. Craig drew back with a slurp and then sucked him back inside. He greedily nursed at him and felt the first wet trail of precome on his tongue, which he hungrily slopped all over the underside of Kenny’s cock. Kenny made a noise, something of a light groan, and cupped the back of Craig’s head. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Yeah, I’m thinking about sucking your dick. I want you to fuck my mouth.” No sooner had he said that, Kenny was rolling his hips upward, a hand eagerly pressed to the back of Craig’s head.

He actually thought Craig would prioritize not ruining his phone call, to the exclusion of all else. That he’d take whatever he wanted. What a fucking _dick._ Craig snatched him away by the wrists and lifted his head, looked Kenny hard in the eyes and pointedly shook his head _no._ Kenny put a hand over his mouth, but Craig could see the way the laughter reached his eyes. Kenny’s prick had flopped back down against him, shining wet from spit and precome, and Craig slid back down between his denim-clad thighs to retrieve it. As he drew it back into his mouth, he reached down and carefully rubbed a hand over Kenny’s balls. Kenny sighed again.

“ _Mmm,_ yeah that’s good…” he breathed out. “Y-yeah, just feels really good. Holy shit, I needed this all day.” Craig could scarcely hear the caller at all, definitely not enough to make out any coherent words, but he thought he could hear a staticky breath or two. He gripped Kenny tight where he couldn’t reach with his mouth, and started jacking him off while he moved against him. Kenny may have been obedient in not pushing his head down, but he was still lifting his pelvis into it. A flash of determination lit through Craig; he took a deep breath and _plunged_ down the length of Kenny’s cock, like he was diving into a pool, and gulped him down, choked him down. Kenny let out a loud moan that, seemingly, startled even him. Craig watched him wince slightly, but the caller must have appreciated that, because his face immediately relaxed and a little grin appeared. “I get pretty fuckin’ loud sometimes. Might as well indulge when the roomie’s out!”

At this point, Craig had lifted his head again to take another breath. But if he did it once, he could do it again, and he did; his nose pressed up under Kenny’s navel and his lips worked around and against the hilt of him. Kenny _was_ really getting into it; he may not have been as loud the second go-around, but he was rapidly on his way to becoming a mess, eyes rolling shut and his voice a broken pattern of _uh-huh_ and _yeah,_ and little breathless grunts, and even the occasional growl as he snapped his hips forward. Craig eased back when he couldn’t take anymore, but it seemed to matter little, because Kenny was fucking his mouth again. He gripped Craig’s shoulder tight with his hand and arched forward. “Getting close,” he gasped out, but the tone wasn’t one that carried a warning, just information. “Yeah, I-I’m gonna, oh fuck, oh _fuck—_ ”

Craig swallowed all that he could. A little more bitter today—not necessarily _foul,_ but it was a taste that was sort of dry—it made him shudder on the way down like he’d just taken a drink of heavy alcohol. He let Kenny’s dick fall back out of his mouth as he sat up and wiped his lips on the back of his wrist. Kenny was still breathing hard. He set the phone aside and Craig caught a flash of the home screen before the whole thing went dark. “Shit,” said Kenny.

“You just hung up on them?”

“Nah,” Kenny replied. “He hung up after we both came. That happens a lot.” He reached down like he was going to adjust his jeans back into place, but instead they just came all the way down—and so did his underwear—leaving him in a disheveled shirt and nothing else. Kenny pushed them to the floor.

“For someone with a dirty mouth,” Craig pointed out, “you really suck at phone sex.”

“Yeah, well.” Kenny shrugged. “Gonna do that each time? Could give you a percentage of the take and everything.”

“So I’m a prostitute now.”

“No, you’re not a prostitute,” Kenny replied. “You’re just my whore.” He reached out and tugged on Craig’s shirt, who stretched out beside him with a resigned sigh and pulled him into his arms.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	14. Day 14 - Tentacles (Kenny/Craig)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny introduces Craig to his biological father, and it goes as swimmingly as awkward situations possibly could. But once they get back to the hotel, everything goes horribly wrong. (Or right, depending on how you look at it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-purposed this from something I'd partially written several years ago. Enjoy...

“So,” remarked Craig as the elevator rose up toward the floor on which he, Kenny, and Mrs. McCormick would be staying – thankfully, in two separate rooms. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but this is getting more and more confusing with each passing second. I thought your dad was locked up in Denver.”

Kenny and his mother exchanged a look, just as the chime sounded on floor 14. As they stepped out, Kenny drew in a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something terrible and inevitable. “That guy’s not my real dad.”

“He raised you since the first time I popped you out,” interjected his mother in her familiar white-trash drawl. “He’s your real father.”

“Craig deserves to know my roots, _Mom,_ ” Kenny snapped back, but then he seemed to feel guilty for it, running a hand through his tousled blond hair and sighing. “Besides, I wouldn’t call sitting around the house drunk and punching me in the back of the head whenever I screwed up ‘raising’.”

“ _I’ll_ punch you in the head, you little shit,” Carol raised her voice.

“So we’re not going to a prison,” said Craig.

“Nah,” said Kenny, and Craig pulled out his keycard to open their door. “See you tomorrow, Mom.” After she walked away, he added, “Thanks for paying for our rooms, by the way. I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Craig. As soon as they were inside he pushed Kenny up against the door and kissed him, feeling the tension slide from his shoulders. Fuck, he hated traveling. Kenny tasted like peanuts and soda, which should have been a nasty combination, but the salt and sweet cancelled each other out in a way that left him eagerly licking inside. His boyfriend reciprocated long enough for Craig to slip him the tongue and press a hand between his thighs, but then he was gently but firmly pushing him away.

“Not tonight, man. I got too much on my mind.”

“Wow,” said Craig. With Kenny’s constant, raging libido it was usually _him_ having to pull the stops when they needed to be pulled. This was—literally—a first, and Craig didn’t know what to say, what to make of it. He pulled back, then proceeded to take off everything but his boxers before drifting into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Sorry!” Kenny called after him. “Tomorrow night, I promise, I’ll be back to begging for your dick in my ass in no time. This is just really huge for me. Like …” He trailed off there, but Craig could sense the mounting emotion in his words. After spitting and rinsing he came out and patted Kenny between the shoulders.

“I get it.” Craig was not one for sentimentality, but he understood on some level how important this was to Kenny. Meeting the parents was always a huge step in one’s relationship. Granted, growing up in the same shitty small town together, they already knew each other’s parents on some level; especially considering the fact Stuart McCormick and Thomas Tucker were part of the same embarrassing redneck social circle, which primarily consisted of drinking… and more drinking. But there was always an element to breaking bread with your partner’s parents for the first time _as_ a couple that a fraught childhood just couldn’t compare—especially when you and said partner were both dudes in a town that pretended to be progressive “so long as it ain’t my kid.”

“You look good though,” Kenny remarked wistfully, his eyes roaming over Craig’s sleek bronze body as Craig, taking in the sight of the bed, climbed atop it and immediately felt exhausted. He hated traveling, and the day was behind them, where it would remain. Craig didn’t even want to think about what the journey home would be like. So much did he loathe the prospect of traveling, most trips carried that weight in the back of his mind, regardless of what vacation he took. He could have an entire week of relaxing on the beach and it would still be there, nestled in between the worry he reserved for each of his guinea pigs.

“Could give you a handjob or something,” Kenny offered.

Craig met Kenny’s gaze when he followed suit; he’d taken off his clothes while Craig was in the bathroom and was joining him on the bed. No underwear. It was tempting. But Craig just shrugged and turned back the covers. “Nah,” he replied. “Let’s just go to sleep. I’m beat.”

Sleep claimed them fairly easily, as it tended to whenever they were together (barring Kenny’s random urges for marathons, and we’re not talking running or binge-watching Netflix here). Then in the morning Kenny blew him in the shower. It was pretty awesome. What wasn’t awesome was how Kenny stayed flaccid the whole time, and wouldn’t let Craig even so much as _try_ to play with his dick. “Wipe that guilty shit off your face,” Kenny said, snapping a towel at him. “It’s nerves. I promise it’s just nerves.”

“This is weird,” remarked Craig in kind. But they dressed and went downstairs to enjoy a mildly-decent breakfast anyway. Mrs. McCormick was supposed to meet them there. She never turned up.

“Shouldn’t we go check on your mom,” asked Craig, casting a glance toward the elevator as they strolled through the lobby hand-in-hand. Kenny shook his head and licked syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“Probably joining her crack pipe for breakfast instead. If she’s not ready for dinner, then I’ll worry.”

“Okay, so now what.”

“We’re in New Orleans, man! Sure, it’s not Mardi Gras right now, but it’s still pretty cool.”

“It looked better before Katrina,” said Craig. “Now it’s just depressing.”

“ _You’re_ depressing.” Kenny flicked the side of his head, and Craig slapped his hand away. “Mom’s not here, so that means we’re on a date. Fucking live a little.”

It was actually a pretty great day, one Craig would have gladly considered a successful date. They didn’t go on them all that often, mainly because “dates” were pretty fucking contrived in Kenny’s opinion. “We’re already together and you already got into my pants, multiple times. What’s the fucking point?” he’d quipped one day, after Craig brought it up.

“People still go on dates even when they’re together, asshole,” had been Craig’s reply. “Even married couples go on dates.”

“Married couples? This is all so sudden.” When Craig socked him in the shoulder, Kenny had laughed. “No, but really, we can just do shit together. It’s the same thing.”

“Maybe I want to take you out sometimes,” Craig argued, “and see you in something that actually counts as clothes.” Kenny had the worst fashion sense of anyone he knew, and it was endearing sometimes, but a lot of the time it just made Craig want to set fire to his dresser and drag him to the nearest shopping mall. Kenny didn’t just have a weird thing about dates; he had a weird thing about Craig spending money on him, at all. It was honestly really fucking irritating, because Craig knew it was a blow to his pride or whatever, but he honestly didn’t mind. That’s what you do when you care about someone, even if they’re an ungrateful little shit. Kenny would never see eye-to-eye with him on this.

Which is why, perhaps largely in part because he’d assigned the “d-word” to their excursion, Craig felt pretty awesome when the sun went down and they were heading to the shore to meet Kenny’s mother for dinner. They actually hugged, which was a little weird, but Craig never pretended to understand how Kenny’s family worked. Carol even seemed like she was in a good mood. Craig was feeling too great to do anything but roll with it, which was why he followed them down the beach without complaint.

At least, until they were far from the nighttime crowd, so far away Craig wondered if they were breaking a law somewhere. There was a pier nearby, but no one for what felt like miles. The chill in the air had Craig wrapping his arms around himself and frowning. There was a blanket set up and everything. “This is really remote for a picnic,” he said, watching Carol light a bunch of candles and spread them around where they would be sitting. She and Kenny exchanged another of those looks that was really starting to make Craig uneasy.

“Dad can’t really go inside anywhere,” said Kenny.

Okay, so he was another convict. Were they meeting him here in secret? Was he a fugitive or something, on the run from the law? Maybe Kenny’s friends thought that sort of thing was “cool”, but it sounded like more drama than Craig wanted to deal with. He frowned.

“Oh no,” said Kenny, looking a little sad. “You’re giving me that look again.”

“What look?”

“The one you give me when you’re about to start bitching like a cranky grandpa.”

“Fuck you,” Craig snapped. Kenny flung a handful of wet sand at him. Craig ducked, but not in time: it still landed on the front of his shirt, splattering onto his shoes. He kicked the dirt and shouted out a string of curses as Kenny ran laughing to the end of the pier. Craig gave chase, catching him around the waist and throwing him to the ground. Kenny kicked him in the shin as hard as he could.

“Stop it, fuckhead,” he said. “This is where I’m supposed to be meeting Dad.”

“This is so retarded,” Craig muttered, standing up and brushing himself off. Kenny did the same. “Okay, so where the Hell is he.”

“Gotta call him first,” Kenny replied, walking out to the edge. He looked pretty cute like that, with the wind whipping his hair and the moonlight glistening on his skin. What wasn’t cute was the way he suddenly threw his arms out toward the Gulf and started speaking in tongues.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Craig shouted. Kenny came over and poked him in the ribs, making Craig gasp out loud, a hand flying to his side.

“You fucked it up! Now I have to start over. Just sit there and don’t say anything, okay?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Craig, thoroughly convinced Kenny must have hit his head and gone _completely fucking insane_ , but his curiosity won out. He stayed silent as the strange demonic language started up again. He supposed, on a certain level of himself that still appreciated geek stuff, it _was_ a little hot. Craig briefly wondered if Kenny would be up for roleplaying in the bedroom sometime, complete with casting sexy spells. He would have to work up the nerve to ask him later. Certainly not while they were on a beach with Kenny’s mother and whoever the fuck his father was.

“Okay,” Kenny’s voice calling out to him in _English_ broke Craig’s thoughts, and he blinked back to reality. Kenny was walking toward him, glancing over his shoulder every couple of seconds. “That should have worked but I dunno how long it takes. I only called him once since all that shit went down with Bradley Biggle. He’s still kind of pissed off about that.”

“What,” said Craig, and found himself staring at the horizon too. He couldn’t help it. Kenny’s hands were suddenly on his waist, and he was kissing him, with a mood that felt more urgent than playful. Craig returned it, rocking forward with a sigh when Kenny reached down to give his ass an affectionate squeeze, but then they were coming apart again. “Okay,” he said. “So what was that for.”

“My family’s so fucked up,” said Kenny, gazing into Craig’s face with the most vulnerable expression Craig had ever seen him wear. “I just hope you don’t end up hating us. Yeah, I know that sounds pretty gay. Sorry.”

“Nah.” Craig reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind Kenny’s ear. “Our whole town’s pretty fucked up. For white trash, you’re all right.”

Right as he said that, the sky grew even darker, and the ground shook. There was a disturbance in the murky waters before them. Craig felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He reached for Kenny’s hand and squeezed it tight. “We should get out of here.”

“That’s him,” said Kenny. He broke away from Craig’s grasp and ran to the edge again, waving his arms and shouting more garbled bullshit. There was a shape on the horizon that only seemed to grow bigger as it drew near. Craig felt his stomach drop out and he was really glad he ate a light lunch, otherwise he knew he’d probably be shitting his pants right then and there.

“What the fuck,” he hissed out in a strained voice. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.”

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Kenny called back to him. The being was close enough for Craig could get a good look at him: reptilian-slit eyes, giant fucking wings and a mess of tentacles. There were tentacles everywhere. The creature slapped one of them over Kenny’s face and Craig heard him scream like a girl, except then he realized that was actually himself. He clapped a hand over his mouth and stared, wide-eyed.

“Holy fucking shit.” Kenny was laughing at him. “This is the most expressive I’ve ever seen you.”

“What,” Craig was surprised he even had a voice left, “the fuck. What the fuck is happening.” The creature roared something unintelligible and a wave rose up, splashing over the pier, soaking them both. “ _Fuck!_ ” Craig shouted. “This was a $150 suit! What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“What the fuck, Dad, stop being an asshole.” Kenny didn’t look very happy about the state of things either. “Uh, so, Craig, meet my dad, I guess. Craig, Cthulhu. Cthulhu, Craig.”

“Your _Dad_ is not fucking _Cthulhu!_ ” Craig shouted again. “This isn’t happening. I’m lying on a beach somewhere. Your real dad knocked me out because he doesn’t like the thought of his son taking it up the ass. That’s what’s really going on here.”

“Oh my god.” Kenny smacked Craig on the side of the head. “Stop acting like such a baby.”

“You’re bleeding.” Craig reached up and wiped a smear of blood from Kenny’s cheek, where he’d been lacerated by the tentacle. It wasn’t that serious but it just added to how freaky and surreal everything had suddenly become. “What the fuck was that? Was that a greeting or did he just knock you across the face.”

“Ha ha,” said Kenny. “I’m not sure if there’s a difference.” That was kind of sad to hear. Craig was struck with the sudden urge to do something gay like kiss it better, or find a band-aid, but then Kenny turned away and walked toward the shoreline. The ground vibrated as Cthulhu followed him. Craig had no choice but to head after them. His legs felt like Jell-O. His feet were like lead. He still wasn’t sure how firmly rooted he was in reality anymore. Obviously he was going to wake up with Kenny’s naked legs tangled around his and then they’d have to do this whole day over again. He slapped himself across the face to try and speed along the process.

“Ow.”

“Hey, dipshit, hurry it up!” Kenny called over his shoulder. Craig looked at the ground and noticed Cthulhu’s feet were huge and clawed all over. He shuddered and limped after them.

“Look who _finally_ decided to show up,” Carol greeted Cthulhu sharply when they all approached the picnic blanket. She’d set out the food at that point, also paid for by Craig, because otherwise they would have been eating breakfast pastries and that simply would not do.

Cthulhu grunted something incomprehensible and plopped down onto the sand. The tremors that spread out from his massive gait felt like a small earthquake.

 

 

* * *

 

The meeting was, surprisingly, uneventful. As uneventful as discovering your boyfriend was related to an ancient deity who lived in the middle of the ocean, anyway. They all mostly just sat there and made awkward small talk. Craig did not recall a word of what he said, but he must have said something, because he could remember Cthulhu growling something at him. Mostly, he just spent the whole shitty picnic in a state of shock, and even when they returned to the hotel room Craig still felt detached from reality. Kenny gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Hey,” he said. “You were great tonight.”

Craig, who was halfway through removing his shirt, paused to stare at him. “Just do me a favour,” he said, “and slap me across the face.”

“Well that’s really fucking kinky,” Kenny replied with a smirk, and did exactly what he was told.

“ _Ow!_ ” Craig scowled at him as he rubbed his cheek. “I didn’t mean to actually slap me, you dick. I was being facetious.”

“Yeah, well.” Kenny just shrugged. He pressed his palms to Craig’s face and kissed him. Craig, who was filled with adrenaline, clutched at him with shaking hands and almost immediately plunged his tongue past Kenny’s lips. Kenny sighed, and licked back, hands sliding in his hair as his long, thin tongue coiled around Craig’s like a snake and sucked softly.

Wait a minute.

Craig yanked himself back. “What the _fuck?_ ”

“What?” asked Kenny. His tongue was definitely long and forked and his eyes had definitely become entirely yellow. Craig backed away from him until he hit the wall. He was flat-out hyperventilating. “ _What?_ ” went Kenny again.

Craig, who could not speak, merely lifted his finger and pointed first at Kenny, then the mirror hung over the sink that sat outside the bathroom. At the very least, Kenny was smart enough to pick up on his hint. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror.

“Holy fucking _shit._ ” His voice had gotten deeper, more gravelly. Craig felt all the colour drain out of his face when Kenny turned and set his strikingly-bright gaze upon him. “This is Dad’s fault,” he said. “Must’ve put something in my blood when he slapped me like that. He’s a big kidder.”

Craig opened his mouth to try and speak, but the words just sort of stuck in his throat, and they came out an incomprehensible gurgle. Kenny was moving toward him. Craig tried to get away, and ended up hurtling himself into the space between the bed and the wall. Kenny held up his hands in a very _I come in peace_ manner, only they’d turned a dark gold much like the rest of his arms. In fact, his _hands_ had disappeared entirely, malformed into something that tapered at the end and writhed around. Kind of like—

“Oh, fuck,” Kenny groaned and tried to clutch at one of his arms. His “hand” wrapped around it like a lasso, and then Craig watched in rapt, dissociated horror as his arms split apart simultaneously, and they didn’t just split in half, but into fourths, and eighths, and—it happened so rapidly Craig couldn’t even keep up with the count anymore. Kenny had collapsed to his knees at that point. Another low groan escaped him, the kind that sounded like he was in unspeakable agony.

Strangely, Craig felt vindicated by this.

“Oh, fuck!” Kenny cried. “My _dick!_ ” As soon as he said that, it burst out of his underwear; only it wasn’t Kenny’s dick anymore. It was huge and black and dripped a strange fluid, also nearly black, but had a strange greenish tint to it. Kenny reached out with one of the long twisting _things_ to try and grasp it, but gave a start, as if he’d forgotten and was subsequently reminded he _didn’t have a fucking hand anymore._

The rest of him ripped through his clothing, too, completely decimated it in a way that strangely reminded Craig of the Hulk. Only it wasn’t broad muscles that tore up the fabric, but claws, and spikes, and the thickening of his legs into powerful draconic things with giant talons on what used to be his feet. Oddly enough, he hadn’t grown much _taller._ And he hadn’t sprouted tails or _wings,_ thank fucking Christ. The room would have been destroyed.

Craig suspected it was going to be anyway.

“Jesus, dude,” Kenny pointed out when he’d managed to rise to his feet. “You pissed yourself.”

“Oh.” That was all Craig could manage. Just, “oh.” He looked down at himself and sure enough, there was a wet trail down his leg. The suit already needed to be dry-cleaned. What would a little urinating in fear add to the bill? Craig actually _laughed._ He was that fucking delirious.

“My dick really hurts,” Kenny complained. “Remember when I wouldn’t have sex with you? I’m really regretting that decision right about now.” The eldritch _thing_ between his thighs swung in Craig’s general direction as if it had a life of its own. Thankfully, it was not long enough to reach him.

“You,” and Craig licked his dry lips. “Uh, you’re not freaking out about this. Why.”

“I mean,” Kenny lifted both sets of tentacles in something akin to a shrug, “I’ve been through worse. And you’re not even gonna remember this, so it’s whatever.”

Something cold ran down Craig’s spine. He shuddered. “What do you mean, I won’t remember this.”

“Or you might,” said Kenny. “I don’t want you to feel like I took advantage of the situation. I’ll just kill myself later.”

“ _What,_ ” Craig gasped out. About thirty seconds later, he found himself waking up on the floor, his vision black and fuzzy around the edges. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. He must’ve just fainted. Kenny was there, and he looked vaguely concerned. One of his tentacles lightly caressed Craig’s face. Craig immediately jumped up onto the bed. “Oh, fuck,” he choked out. “Don’t—touch me.”

“I have to,” Kenny said. “I don’t think it’ll go away. I don’t wanna go insane.” More of the things were on Craig, slithering over him like snakes, tearing at his pants.

“This was a really expensive suit,” Craig whispered. Go insane. What the fuck did he mean by _go insane?_ Craig was already insane, that much was certain. He found himself _trembling,_ Jesus fuck, as the tentacles slithered over his bared thighs. One of them snuck up the leg of his underwear, and Craig twisted away. “Stop.”

“It’ll be alright,” Kenny said. “I’m not gonna hurt you or anything.” It was definitely still _Kenny,_ at any rate. He was talking like this was just another kink in the bedroom, or something, and he was cajoling Craig into trying it out. And truth be told, Craig would have been lying if he said he _hadn’t_ once thought about getting fucked up the ass by one of those Japanese tentacle monsters. Or more than once, but whatever. It was just harmless youthful curiosity, right? He stared down between his own legs. A tentacle had started rubbing up against his crotch, through his underwear, and as it segued into stroking his hardening cock, another took its place. A third snaked around behind him and poked into the top of his buttcrack. Craig jerked backward and impulsively clamped his cheeks together.

“This is so fucking weird,” he whispered.

“I know,” Kenny replied. “Shit, I’m so fucking turned on. I don’t think I’ve ever been this horny in my _life._ I can finally live out my fantasy of tentacle raping you.”

“ _What—_ ” Craig barely even got that word out before one of the tentacles forced its way into his mouth. The consistency and texture made him think of octopus. As did the suckers along the bottom, which strangely felt _good_ as they massaged along his tongue. It tickled and itched but at the same time, there was an odd tingle there he couldn’t get enough of. He closed his eyes and breathed out shakily through his nose as the thing slowly drove in and out of his mouth.

“I mean, not really rape. I don’t wanna _rape_ you.” Kenny laughed like he’d just made an awkward joke. In his monstrous voice, he sounded like some kind of evil villain. “But, goddamn. You look so hot. Holy _fuck._ ” Two of the tentacles—no, _him,_ it was him all along, Craig desperately tried to convince himself, extensions of him like they were limbs—ran up his sides and then each of them wrapped around a bicep. “I’m gonna pick you up,” said Kenny. “I wanna see if I can pick you up.”

Craig, whose mouth was too full to speak, only nodded. The shout that ensued was muffled, too, as he felt himself being lifted up off the bed. He was actually floating in the air. No, not floating: Kenny was hoisting him up. And then he was grabbing him, by the ankles, prying his legs apart. Craig, much to his chagrin, was rock-hard by this point, and even if Kenny _hadn’t_ seen it he definitely would have _felt_ it. The tentacle that had been petting his crotch was back, and two more of them stroked over Craig’s upper body, found his nipples and played with them until they were stiff and puckered. Craig actually whimpered. It occurred to him then: he truly was completely helpless, totally at Kenny’s mercy. Kenny could do whatever the fuck he wanted and he had to just lie there, _float_ there, and take it.

Awesome.

They practically swarmed him then, all over his body. All over his everything, only Kenny had apparently decided to back off from touching the sensitive places and chose to drink in his skin instead. Craig's eyes fluttered shut as he felt himself being caressed from all different angles. Over his chest, his back, down his spine, behind his knees, against his inner thighs. Kenny was panting, hard, and Craig found himself wondering if he was _feeling_ the textures and shapes of his body, or _tasting_ them.

That was his last thought, and he hadn’t contemplated what kind of power that idea could have held for him until it was too late, and he was gasping around the one in his mouth as come splattered over the inside of his underwear.

Kenny growled. _Delight_ was the first thing that came to mind. The tentacles caught his piss-and-come-drenched underwear and peeled it down his thighs. Craig felt himself sweating. He’d never come like that before, not after growing past the age where it was embarrassingly easy. But Kenny had bathed him in pure sensation and with him still stroking and petting all over his skin, Craig’s nerves were alight, and he couldn’t stop himself from giving over to them. If this was a dream, let him never come back.

They were not finished. _Kenny_ was not finished. Not by a long shot. Craig felt a coiling around his half-hard dick and he groaned, a little too sensitive, and Kenny surely knew that—but he didn’t let go. Craig felt himself being turned and frantically, he struggled, but the eldritch held him fast. The thought of being turned upside down made him feel dizzy just thinking about it. But Kenny stopped when he was turned sideways, his body parallel with the bed beneath him. Craig looked down, as if he expected to see some kind of Hellscape beneath him, but it was just the bed, made up as if they were never there in the first place. Even if it was because of the maids, Craig still felt a strange uncertainty gnawing at his heart.

He closed his eyes. They were between his legs. Two of them curled around his balls, one for each, pressing uncomfortably into his scrotum and his eyes snapped open. There was one already making its way between his buttcheeks, too. With his legs spread and held fast, Craig knew there was nothing he could do. He shivered when the cool, damp tip squirmed up into his asshole and wound all the way in. It made him think of those weird situations where the tentacle would go all the way up the victim’s digestive system and pop out of their throat, and Craig froze in panic, but Kenny didn’t take it that far. Only enough to fill his ass.

“How’s that feel,” Kenny rumbled at him. The appendage inside him gave a curious, light tickle against the end of the canal, as if to remind him where it _could_ go, and an uncomfortable sensation spread through his lower belly. Craig frantically shook his head. “Don’t worry,” said Kenny. “Not gonna give you a colonoscopy. But I am gonna fuck you.” He did: maneuvered the tentacle so it slid out of Craig’s ass all the way, then plunged back inside, and then he did it again. And again. Craig was shaking, hard. It stretched and massaged him at the same time, and Kenny still fucked his mouth, too, and toyed with his genitals. Two of them affixed themselves to his nipples, again, with the little sucker-cups, and tugged. Craig moaned and his eyes watered. He couldn’t stand it and he didn’t want it to stop. He wanted relief and he wanted to be ripped apart. It was not a place his head had been, never before in his life. Kenny didn’t seem sympathetic to him, either. It felt like the more he touched—tasted—Craig the hungrier he grew. Craig didn’t even want to think about the monstrosity his dick had become, huge and throbbing and leaking ichor all over the carpet.

Another tentacle poked at the taut ring of his ass and Craig choked around the thing in his mouth. It rubbed along and around the muscle, slow and careful, while the first one unrelentingly thrusted in and out. Then it, too, wormed its way inside. Craig sobbed and helplessly lowered his head as he felt himself stretch even further. It was too much, _fuck_ it was too much, it didn’t _hurt_ but it was just so overwhelming, he couldn’t stand it. More fluids dripped out of the swollen head of his prick and left little spots of wet all over the bedspread. Kenny could throw him around like a fucking ragdoll if he wanted. But instead he was just some kind of toy, with holes to use and abuse, and holy _shit_ was it incredible. Kenny, quite literally, had him by the balls and he was ruined. He tried to lift his head and peer over his shoulder, but the ones inside him, they were still moving, still wriggling and fucking him open.

Craig felt like he was going to fucking die.

Kenny carefully turned his body around, bringing Craig at an angle to the width of the bed instead of straight across—presumably so he could look at his ass. Craig felt self-consciously, uncomfortably exposed like this. He also couldn’t stop _moving_ himself, hips pressing back whenever they left him, pelvis yanking forward whenever they drove inside. His dick was uncomfortably hard again and his balls were swollen and sore, still held captive. Tears streamed down his face and perspiration slicked his skin. He hadn’t been driven to the edge; he’d been thrown off the cliff, over and over. The limb in his mouth finally slid free and Craig drooled all over himself like a god damn baby.

“Kill me,” he groaned. Kenny made a deep, rasping noise that _might_ have been a chuckle.

“That good?” he growled out.

Craig didn’t even know anymore. His head was swimming. The things twisted back inside him again and he cried out and squirmed, hands grasping in the air at nothing as if he could somehow find purchase somewhere anyway. Craig realized then he must have been making a whole bunch of noise against the tentacle that had fucked his mouth, because now he was moaning over and over, long and wavering, each time they ran through him. His throat hurt like he’d been shouting for a while. He was vaguely aware of a sensation like he was drifting, and the flash of a thought came to him: had he already died? But he opened his eyes and realized Kenny was just bringing him closer. Even if he didn’t pull out of him, two of his limbs wrapped around his body and pressed him tight against—whatever his chest had become. It felt hard and rigid against his back, like armour coated in snakeskin.

Was he giving him a fucking _hug?_

“You look so fucking hot, Craig,” came Kenny’s rumbling voice. “I can’t do you like this anymore, or I really am gonna fucking eat you.”

Craig couldn’t even speak, just pathetically whimper at him. Something brushed between his legs and he glanced down to find that huge, horrific cock just inches from his body. Instinctively he thrashed in Kenny’s grip, even though he knew it was futile. That— _thing—_ it was so coated in whatever that weird shit was, it looked like it had been drenched in oil. And Kenny clearly wanted to put it in him. Craig, with wide eyes, frantically shook his head.

“Don’t worry,” Kenny assured him—or tried to? there was no softening that heavy voice—and rubbed an errant tentacle through his hair before sliding it down his back. “I’m gonna fuck you gently with just the tip. You can take it, right? Just the tip?”

Even the tip looked like it was the size of a fucking grapefruit. But that painful curiosity squeezed his chest again. He wanted to take it, and he knew he could. Craig bit his lip, then closed his eyes and nodded slowly. Kenny responded to this by pressing him close in another of those strange embraces. The tentacles slid free of his ass and the relief, for but a few seconds, was _so_ sweet, but he was swiftly being invaded again. Craig couldn’t even look. He squeezed his eyes shut as the—as _just the tip_ pressed against his hole and he opened around it, strained noises escaped him. He breathed hard and tried to bear down. It went inside, and Craig let out a short scream.

Truth be told, it did not feel much thicker than getting double-penetrated by those tentacles. But Craig still felt strange and numb, he was certain he was going to be split apart now. Kenny held him tight and growled something into his ear reminiscent of whatever language he’d spoken out on the pier. Craig just nodded frantically. He didn’t know what the fuck he was saying and he didn’t know what _to_ say. Kenny started to move.

“Oh, god,” Craig cried. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh god…” Kenny, at the least, seemed to maintain his grip on reality—whatever wretched, twisted thing reality had become for them—because he hadn’t lied to him: he didn’t force it in further, only dipped in and out of him in slow, careful strokes. His breath was practically molten against the back of Craig’s neck.

“See?” he told him. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.” Nausea swirled in Craig’s belly, because the way he said it, it was like the last words before impending doom. But it was already there anyhow, in the form of having his asshole slowly but surely ravaged, like he wasn’t just getting opened up down there but in every place inside him, too.

“I love you,” he choked out, and then he sort of sank forward against the bonds, like they were just puppet strings holding him aloft. Another round of sobs tore through his throat. “I’m gonna die, fuck, it’s going to kill me.”

“Aw…” Kenny rubbed a tentacle over his shoulder. “You’re not gonna die. I got you.”

 _But that’s the problem,_ thought Craig. He was dimly aware of the fact he was grinding his hips against that big nasty cock, not quite a motion to pull more of it in but more of a wiggle against what he _could_ take, to feel it move around inside him. He whined low in his throat. The ugly mixture of numbing discomfort and good—just _good,_ was all he could think of—burned all the way through him and made his vision blur, tears or not, and he surely thought he was going to black out if they went on like this. His eyes fell shut again and he mindlessly circled his hips, tormented not just by how it touched all the right places inside him but by how this had gone on for _far_ too long already. He was beyond wrecked. And that was how Craig was sure he was going to die, because he’d just fucking shut down, whatever transmitters in his brain or however that shit worked: they’d just burn out and shut down and then there would go the rest of him.

“C’mon, baby,” came the rumbling at his ear. The voice sounded nothing like Craig’s companion, but the words were definitely Kenny. “Work that ass, yeah, c’mon baby.”

Definitely Kenny.

And Craig didn’t remember either of them coming at all but when he woke up in their shared hotel bed, Kenny was lying beside him—Kenny the _human_ —and he felt that strange, vague heartbreak that normally came on when dreams were realized.

But when he got up to piss, Craig felt a weird soreness in his butt he’d never experienced the likes of before, and then he saw it: an oily black smear on the carpet.

The bed shifted and Kenny sat up, rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah.”

They were both naked. After Craig relieved himself he pulled on a robe and walked back into the bedroom to find Kenny lounging atop all the covers, dick out and all. Kenny flashed him an easy smile. “Crazy night, huh?”

“Yeah. I guess.” Craig reached down and scratched his balls. “What happened, anyway?”

“Oh,” and Kenny waved his hand, “I introduced you to my biological father, and then we came back to the hotel and I turned into a tentacle monster and ravaged you until you passed out.”

“Huh,” Craig remarked, “so that really did happen.” Kenny’s face immediately fell. It was clear he’d hoped it could be passed off as a joke. Hiding in plain sight, as it were.

“I was kidding,” Kenny rushed to save face. “We got baked and fooled around. Until you passed out.”

“Then what the Hell is that,” Craig asked blandly, and jabbed his toe in the direction of the stain on the floor.

“Uh,” Kenny laughed nervously. “Bong water?”

“You are so full of shit.”

“Yeah,” and Kenny despondently dropped his gaze, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	15. Day 15 - Uniforms & Intercrural (Wendy/Kenny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wendy wrecks Kenny’s ass while wearing her police uniform. Need I say more?

“Hot damn,” said Kenny.

Wendy just smirked at him and casually adjusted the pointed cap seated atop her head. Her long jet-black hair was pulled back in a bun and she was still wearing her mirrored shades, which she pulled off and slipped into her pocket. Kenny’s gaze dropped to her belt and the gun neatly tucked in its holster, and his silly, very _male_ brain immediately conjured up images of her pistol whipping some redneck across the face, or firing a bullet into his skull.

He was very glad now that she slapped him when he suggested the “sexy” police officer outfit for Halloween last year. The real thing was _so_ much better.

Wendy smoothed her hands down the sides of her dark blue uniform shirt. Her breasts, which were not ample but still lovely indeed, pushed out the front and Kenny briefly contemplated popping open the button. She would beat the shit out of him for that. So instead, he simply asked, “so, how was your first day on the field?”

“Exhausting,” was all his fiancee had to say. Her boots thumped against the floor as she marched into the kitchen, opened up the cabinet and promptly poured herself a shot of Jack. Kenny leaned against the threshold and watched her, caught an eyeful of her ass in those pants and grinned to himself. His own personal noir film, right here. But he wasn’t stupid, either. He knew it was going to suck royal ass being an officer in South Park, where just about everyone was screwed up as could be.

After she took her drink, Wendy added in a voice filled with put-upon gruffness, “someone’s gotta clean up this shithole of a town.”

“And that’s gonna be you, huh?”

“I don’t see anyone else with a badge here.” Wendy drew near to him with long, purposeful strides; her heel seductively swished across the floor and came to a firm stop between them. Kenny gazed down into her face, and watched the shadows play across her pale blue eyes.

“You should arrest me,” he declared. Wendy scoffed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No. Cuff me, mama.”

“Jesus.” Wendy shook her head. “Fine, I’ll cuff you, you horny son-of-a-bitch. And then you’re gonna take my big dick.”

“ _Nooo,_ ” Kenny dramatically pretended to whine out while Wendy yanked his arms behind his back. “Not your dick, _please_ don’t fuck me with your big nasty dick!” The cuffs were like unforgiving ice against his skin, and then they snapped shut. He heard the whisper-clink of metal, something butted up against the base of his spine. “Wait,” he said. “Holy shit. I don’t think you’re supposed to—”

“I’ll do the talking here.” Wendy jabbed it into him and Kenny barely suppressed a snort of a laugh before she marched him right up the stairs and into their bedroom. As soon as he was inside, he whipped around and didn’t know if he was more disappointed or relieved to discover that she’d just been threatening him with her baton. The gun still sat in its holster. Truth be told, as much as the thought of her with it made him salivate, Kenny was also a bit perturbed. Did they really just pass guns around like that? To  _rookies?_

Then again, it _was_ his ass-backwards hometown, after all.

“ _Bend over._ ” Wendy grabbed a fistful of his shirt from behind, twisted it in her hand as she snarled the words though her teeth and right into his ear. All of Kenny’s circulation immediately shot straight down to his dick.

“What happens if I don’t, ma’am? Gonna pull your gun on me?” He turned his head when he talked back, a little grin making its way into his mouth. Wendy brought him down to the level of the bed by force, and he struggled for a few seconds, just for funsies! but Jesus Christ, she was actually pretty fucking _strong,_ and she had the goddamn training to boot. She was unstoppable. He surrendered to her, let her twist his body down onto the mattress.

Kenny ended up on his side, a little breathless from that flash of a fight and a whole lot turned on. He twisted around in an attempt to look up at her. Wendy was removing her hat and setting it aside on top of the dresser. Her hair was neatly pulled back, so black it was practically fucking iridescent, and wound up tight. Kenny wanted to see her take it out, to watch it spill down over her back and feel it brush against him when she leaned over him, spoke to him, _mounted_ him. But, Wendy made no move to undo anything. “You did it wrong, babe,” Kenny couldn’t resist teasing. “You were supposed to get me down on the fucking ground.”

Wendy crossed the few steps between them, drew her hand back, and promptly slapped him across the face.

“That’s Officer to you, cunt,” she said simply, and Kenny watched her retreating ass as she turned and headed for the closet. From his position he could only see a cross-section of her, and shadows, but his tongue flicked between his teeth and he bit his lip in a vain effort to quell the delighted smile that came upon him when her harness came out in her hands. The thick, onyx-black dildo bobbed around and he heard her unzip. He heard the dull thump of her boots, too, and then she was clearly stepping into it, and zipped something _else_ with a flourish, and then she was stalking toward him again with her pants off, harness strapped to her hips. She’d put her boots back on. And two weapons were pointed right at him: the huge phallus between her legs, smoother and finer than any _real_ cock, a solid thing that tapered slightly at the end but otherwise did not mimic anything about a penis whatsoever, because _hers_ was far superior, and—holy shit. The gun. She had out the gun. She was pointing it right at him.

Kenny practically fucking _squealed._

“I don’t know why you look so happy.” Wendy seized a handful of his hair and forced his head up, to look him right in the eyes. “I’m about to blow your _fucking_ brains out.”

“Blow them,” Kenny groaned out. “Goddamnit, Wendy-bird.” She tapped the end of the gun against his temple, as if to remind him what was at stake.

“I said to call me ‘Officer’.” Her grip on the gun was unrelenting; it pushed just a little harder up against the soft part of his skull, and she still had him by the hair, grasped him right at the roots.

Her shapely hips pressed forward and the evil rubbery thing between her thighs smacked him on the cheek. Kenny opened his mouth, and she forced his head down. “Yeah, just like that, you fucking scum.” The dildo filled his mouth, cold and heavy, slid right past his tongue all the way to the back of his throat. Kenny choked and gagged, unable to stop it. “You better suck it good, because that’s going in your ass.”

The muzzle of the gun kissed his cheek. It was even colder, colder than the shackles on his wrists, colder than the thick rubber cock that fucked his throat.

Kenny snorted. He wasn’t sure why. Was it laughter? Wendy, in response, shoved him down all the way to the hilt. Held him there, like he was nothing, nobody, just some pathetic little waste on the street. She laughed at him, sharp and cruel, not a trace of warmth left in her. Kenny would have to drag it out all by his own damn self. His cock was full and heavy between his legs and pressed up against his pants. He wanted, more than anything, for her to pull them the fuck _down_ and just fucking decimate his wanting, open asshole, leave no hole within him unravaged. Wendy pulled his head up and her body backwards, and the dildo slopped out of his mouth. Kenny coughed and savoured the opportunity to breathe while he could, because it wouldn’t last, only one pass of air through his lungs—.

Wendy pulled him to the hilt a second time. He could _smell_ her, then, she was getting fucking wet from this. A low animalistic growl rolled from his throat. She must have taken it as protest, because she smacked him with the gun, lightly, banged it against his cheekbone. It smarted while he opened his mouth to take her in, but it was like his dick was giving little answering throbs of its own. “Yeah,” Wendy taunted him. “Yeah, you like that? It’s all you’re good for. This is all you’re good for, you little tramp!” She grabbed her baton and struck him on the backside. Pain burst through him, a persistent ache that immediately lit on his bones and spread over his pelvis. Kenny groaned around the dildo.

“Oh,” said Wendy. “I didn’t even hit you that hard.” She swatted him with it again, and Kenny let out something of a short but hard wail into the rubber, kicked his legs and his hands clenched, curled and uncurled. Wild-eyed, he looked around for her discarded gun, found it sitting just to the left of him on the bed. With a little strained grunt, his whole body gave a jerk, as if he really could edge closer somehow, get it into his bound hands.

Wendy, of course, knew. She knew exactly what he was trying to pull. “Oh, I don’t think so.” When she bent to retrieve it, the black phallus slid out of Kenny’s mouth.

“Shit,” he gasped out. His mouth, lips, chin, all of it was slick with his own saliva. Hopefully, the toy would be too. Kenny shook his head for a few seconds, tried to find his bearings again. Wendy was on her feet, she was behind him. Her hands scrabbled down between Kenny’s legs, up against him and the bed, and he panted like a pathetic little dog and pushed his hips forward, hoping she’d grab his balls or slap his dick or do—something. Anything. But Wendy just yanked his pants and boxers down, briefly smoothed her hands over exposed vulnerable skin that Kenny was blissfully aware would bruise up in the morning, and pressed into him. “Ah, Christ,” he groaned as she sank forward. “Yeah, shit. Fuck my ass, W—uh, Officer.”

“You’re not in a _position,_ ” Wendy snapped, and struck him on the ass to punctuate her statement—man alive, it was the gun, it had to be—“to be _asking_ for things!” There came another blow, and Kenny whined and thrashed beneath her.

“God _damn_ it,” he gasped out. “That fucking _hurt._ ”

“It’s supposed to hurt,” Wendy informed him, like he didn’t know. She rocked into him with steady strokes. It wasn’t deep enough. Christ, he needed to really get her _in._

“Don’t play me like this, Officer,” Kenny whined. “I, ahh, god—”

“You _what?_ ” Wendy grabbed him by the shirt again. With her other hand, she traced the gun along the back of his neck. “You better shut up. I won’t tell you again.” She bucked up hard against Kenny’s ass, which startled a moan out of him.

“ _Uhn,_ uh-huh, just like that. Fuck yeah, Officer!”

“You—” Wendy snorted behind him, and her grip faltered, trembled, for a few seconds. Kenny grinned to himself. “Fine, you whore,” she growled, having found her composure. “Tell me how good it is. How _great_ I am, fucking you in your cunt like a little bitch!”

Holy shit. Where the Hell did she even learn to talk like that? Kenny’s chest tightened, swelled with a mixture of pride, delight and pure unabashed love. “God, yeah,” he moaned, and pushed his face into the bed. “ _Ugghh_ yeah, fuck me in my _cunt,_ Officer. Fuck me hard!”

“That’s nothing,” scoffed Wendy. “Where’d you learn to praise like that? Back in the bordello?”

“Oh, god, Officer.” Kenny shifted around, kicked up one of his legs and tried to press himself backwards. Wendy’s fist, filled with his shirt, pressed firm against his spine. He wasn’t going anywhere. “You fuck me so good, the best dick in town, you uh, you _own_ my ass and— _ah, fuck_ —you’re gorgeous, so beautiful, so perfect—”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Wendy slid out of him entirely and stood up. Before Kenny could even lament aloud at how unfair that was, she’d grabbed him and pulled him around, rolled him onto his back. He grunted and rolled his shoulders; they were really starting to ache, too, and with his hands pinned behind his back he could do jack shit about it. Wendy straddled his face, and Kenny found himself staring up at her crotch; the fake cock obscenely bobbed in his view. “You’re about as pathetic as you are stupid. Lick me out.”

“Uh…”

“Are you deaf? I said to fucking _lick me._ ” Wendy lowered herself until her crotch was level with his mouth, and Kenny panted, nosed at the place where the leather strap pressed up against her, set his teeth against it. Wendy pressed herself down against him and he eagerly slathered his tongue over her best he could, dragged it up and down her wet skin and gave off a low whine. The main part of the harness covered the best parts of her and his hips gave a desperate squirm when he thought of her clit rubbing up against it on the inside every time she thrust into him. “Oh, fuck,” Wendy hissed out when he successfully managed to poke his tongue under the leather strap and lapped desperately at her, twisted it up into her best he could.

Something moved above him and he opened his eyes, caught sight of her fingers working at the contraption. It slid free of her and that goddamn thing, the dildo, fell against his face and just sort of rested there. Wendy made no move to dislodge it. But it didn’t matter, because she’d become a living precious buffet laid out just for him, and he groaned as he pressed his mouth to her, she was about to get the pussy-eating of a fucking _lifetime._

Kenny wasn’t about to question his ego, or the way she moaned in that intimate way just for him, beyond all the fun and games. It was always what he lived for and it fueled him, he made love to her with his tongue and she rode his face, cried out and shivered beautifully when he kissed and stroked her clit. Her thighs squeezed tight around him, suffocated him, when she came. He wheezed for air and could only breathe in _her,_ the perfume of her sex and skin, and goddamn if he wasn’t ready to lose it all over himself just from _that._ She finally freed him and he gave a little groan of protest even as he heaved in for air over and over, a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.

“You liked sucking me off, didn’t you?”

“Fuck yeah, Officer.” Kenny’s eyes rolled back and he flopped his head back against the pillow while she eased down his body. He was still in just his t-shirt and it was damp with perspiration, especially around his collar and pits. “If this is jail, sign me the fuck up. I’d drop the soap for you _any_ time, every fuckin’ _day._ ”

“Oh, shut up.” Wendy was straddling his hips and he was like an excited dog, eagerly rutting up for the friction of her, any friction at all. But she leaned up, and he grunted in frustration as he chased her body in vain. “That’s the stereotype between _prisoners,_ you pathetic little whore.” Kenny just laughed, a little shakily. She brought up the gun and knocked it against his cheekbone, pressed it up against his face. “You’re a cheeky little fuck,” she said. “You’re lucky I’m not making you suck on this, I’ll fill your goddamn throat with lead.”

“ _Please,_ ” moaned Kenny. Wendy lifted her hips and brought it down between them, rubbed the end of the muzzle right up against his balls. Kenny gasped and tightened in fright, goddamn it, if he wasn’t already on the verge of exploding his dick might have actually shrank back in fear. All it earned was a laugh for his efforts, because he was just living entertainment, and Wendy put the gun aside.

“I bet you think I’m riding your dick, that’s what you want, isn’t it?” Kenny nodded frantically. “Oh, please. Your ugly little clit won’t be enough to satisfy me. Jesus. Get over yourself.”

Kenny, who was pretty well-hung and had an amazing cock that he used well, salivated at being insulted like this. He ground his hips up desperately and Wendy pushed a hand down on his stomach. “I—Officer, my balls are bluer than your shirt, _please_ let me cum for the love of _God._ ”

“No,” Wendy replied. “No fucking way. I’m going to come in your ass first, and then I’ll reconsider it.” She retrieved the strapon from where it had fallen to the side of him, then maneuvered herself between his thighs and pushed his legs up, and Kenny whined like a little bitch as they sort of flopped down against her shoulders. His toes flexed in the air and she entered him again with no further preamble. There was quite a bit of struggle this time; his butthole wouldn’t stop clenching and Jesus _fuck,_ was she really going in dry? He visibly winced and she laughed at him.

“What, your loose hole can’t take this?”

“No, ma’am. Uh, Officer.”

Wendy made a _tch_ noise at him and bent over to grab the lube. “I guess I’ll cut you some slack,” she told him as she rubbed it along her length; the tip still sat partially lodged in him, and his asshole felt like it was on fucking _fire._ Kenny actually moaned in relief when it slid up neatly inside. She didn’t stop filling him until she got as deep as she possibly could, reached her hands under his bare ass to lift it and roughly squeezed his cheeks in the process, raked it with her nails.

Wendy only fucked him slow for a few passes, then she was already on her way to thoroughly railing him. The most delicious, heavenly sounds fell from her as she ground against him, and Kenny just took it like the little bitch he knew he was, eagerly rocking his ass into it until she came again, crying out and clutching at his shirt, yanking it tight until he swore he heard a few threads pop. Wendy sat there for a moment with her cock still deep in him, to catch her breath. A few wisps had actually come undone from her perfect, professional hair and they framed her pretty face, her lips wet and parted with the heavy ragged breaths that pushed her chest forward, and there was a vulnerable sweetness to the way her cheeks were all flushed. Kenny wanted desperately to kiss them, kiss her, but Wendy just slid free of his ass with a nasty little _pop_ of lube, and once she’d let Kenny’s legs fall she was straddling him again.

“Go on,” she ordered, still a bit breathless. “I’m not gonna ride you. I can get off just fine when I’m wrecking your skinny ass, so I have no need for your dick.”

“Oh, _god,_ ” Kenny groaned. He was out of breath himself. He hadn’t come but she sure as Hell abused his prostate several times, and his cock was flushed a deep red and leaking. His whole fucking channel ached all the way up, not in that way where they’d taken it too far, but he could still feel everything and he was all open and sore and raw. He bit his lip and flexed a few times for good measure, seeking some kind of relief. Wendy pressed her thighs tight against him, squished his cock between them, and gripped him tight by the jaw, _forced_ him to look up at her.

“You better keep your eyes open,” she told him, “and keep them on me. _I’m_ the one who’s letting you come. Not whoever made you their bitch in the showers, or whoever’s waiting for you back home. _Me._ ”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Kenny panted out, and he was already moving halfway through her statements. Her thighs were soft, warm and moist from all of what she’d done to him already, and they were _perfect_ around his pathetic dick. It didn’t take long at all for him to grind between them, and his breath caught in his throat when the first string of come spurted from him, and then her hand was around her throat. She squeezed him tight, and her nails carved little crescents into his skin. The best orgasm of his _life—_ but he knew it was just the lust-fever talking—ripped through him and he couldn’t even scream, just threw his head back as black stars burst in front of him and neon lines carved out his eyes. When he stopped fiercely thrusting between her legs and coating them in come Wendy let go of him and he sucked in his breath so loudly she actually looked concerned.

“Baby?” She touched his face. Kenny, who was struggling to catch his wind again and couldn’t speak, tried to nod reassuringly. He was dimly aware of the kiss she planted on his forehead before her hands were under his body, and she undid his cuffs. He didn’t even realize his arms were still there until that moment. They tingled all over like they’d fallen asleep and he dropped them to his sides.

“Shit,” he finally said. Wendy passed him a bottle of water and he gulped it down like he’d just come out of the fucking desert.

“Let’s get your shirt off,” she said. Once it was off he watched her drift around the room to remove and put the rest of her uniform away, then she pulled on her panties and laid down beside him, and hugged his head into her chest.

“ _Mmmgh,_ ” Kenny sighed. “At this rate, our honeymoon’s gonna be a fucking drag.”


	16. Day 16 - Frottage (Tweek/Craig, Kenny/Tweek, Kenny/Stan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig, Kenny and Stan get invited into some real hardcore, underground shit for hardcore dudes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is awful, why'd I write this?

“Ugh.” Stan sighed as he sat up from leaning against the tree behind him. “I’m so _bored!_ It’s like there’s nothing to do around this stupid campus except get drunk and fuck easy sorority girls.”

“Wow,” Craig quipped. “Stan Marsh is tired of drinking. The sky must be falling.”

“Dude, shut up.” Stan kicked at him. “I wish I was gay. It would make everything so much easier.”

Kenny snorted. “I mean, you’re basically a lesbian anyway.”

“You shut up too!”

“Why would being gay be any easier,” Craig asked flatly, clearly taken aback by the observation.

“Because, uh, I dunno. You guys always know how to get crazy. Maybe I should just go to a gay bar.”

“I thought you were tired of drinking.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “I mean, I am, but…”

Craig sighed. “Look,” he told him. “Gay bars are a hotbed of drugs, cocktails, and nasty one-night stands. No one will want you there.”

“Don’t forget the glory holes, my good man!” Eric’s cheerful voice floated along the breeze as he passed by. Craig was just going to ignore him. But then Kenny had to go and be all,

“You would know, wouldn’t you?”

and Stan and Craig exchanged a _look,_ because just like that and there he was, wedging himself into their circle like he was somehow entitled to be there. Craig sighed and stood up.

“I’m just gonna pretend I had somewhere else to be.”

“Now, just a minute there, Craig.” Eric laid a clammy hand on his shoulder. “Hang on! I _did_ catch the other stuff you were talking about. Heard you guys were bored, sick of the college rat race.” He winked.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Well,” Eric went on like he hadn’t heard him, “I just wanted to tell you guys where the _real_ action is. You like hardcore stuff, right?”

“ _Yeah,_ we like hardcore stuff,” Stan replied, as if the very question flabbergasted him. “We’re fucking dudes, bro.”

“ _Well,_ ” and Eric grinned, “I know where it’s happening. And I’m not talkin’ about the little boy stuff. This is where the _real man shit_ happens.”

“I hate you and I’m not interested,” said Craig.

“Just, shut up, Craig. Anyway, if you guys like excitement, wanna get in on some _real_ action, meet me at the _City Wok_ at 10pm tonight. I’m telling you guys. It’s _super_ hardcore, for _real_ men.”

“I’m a real man!” Kenny proclaimed.

“Fuck yeah you are. But,” and Eric lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “you guys can’t, absolutely _can’t_ tell anyone. It’s like, hardcore underground shit.”

“I don’t actually care—”

“Hardcore underground shit, Craig. _Super_ underground.” He patted him on the shoulder, winked at the group again, and went on his merry way.

“Are we really doing this?” Stan laughed. “I mean, it’s Cartman. He’s probably gonna get us to like, I dunno, finger Butters’ ass and wipe it on his face so he has a Hitler mustache again. Or something.”

“Wait,” Kenny cut in. “You actually did that?”

“No, dude, come on.” Stan fidgeted and looked away.

“Anyway,” Kenny went on. “I wanna go. I really want to see what the fuck he’s hyping up here. If it turns out to be bullshit, we can just leave and I’ll suck your dick or something. Sound good?”

“Cool,” Stan affirmed. “What about you, Craig?”

“No,” Craig replied and shouldered his bag. “I’m leaving. Have fun.”

 

 

* * *

 

“I still can’t believe _City Wok_ actually became a chain,” Kenny remarked as they arranged themselves in front of the door.

“I can,” replied Craig, and then he knocked. It swung open to reveal a racist Chinese stereotype, and after a brief and very awkward exchange of dialogue he led them through the darkened restaurant to the basement. Somehow, it just made perfect sense an offensive caricature would know who Eric Cartman was. They were all so very lucky to know the right people on the inside.

It was really noisy down there. A lot of shouting and whooping and clapping. It smelled like jizz and cheap beer. Kenny and Eric immediately locked eyes and a wide, shit-eating grin split Eric’s fat face. He was over there in a jiffy.

“You made it, you guys!” He threw his thick arms around Kenny in a hug. Kenny coughed politely and pulled away. Eric reeked of cologne and the body odor it didn’t quite manage to cover up. It was basically what he always smelled like, and so no one wanted to be touched by him. Craig craned his neck to try and get a better look at whatever the fuck was happening. The crowd was pretty thick, and the chain link fence obscured a lot of his vision.

“So lemme fill you in,” Eric said as he brought them down closer to the circle. A few men Craig didn’t recognize turned and stared at them as they went by, cigar smoke rich and heady in the air.

“Who’dat?” asked one of them.

“Looks like some new blood. Been needin’ some new blood ‘round these parts.”

There was a break in the crowd and Eric halted, allowed the three of them in to get a good view. It was a good thing Craig wasn’t drinking anything, because he would have choked. There was Butters—fucking _Butters_ —and some other guy. He looked much older, his thick mustache and black hair streaked with grey. Both of them were circling each other like dogs, and their pants were open, erections bouncing and bobbing in front of them with every movement. Butters thrust his hips forward in a threatening gesture, and everyone cheered.

“ _Dad?!_ ”

Stan’s eyes were the size of saucers. Eric laughed at him.

“Oops,” he said. “Forgot to mention that the Amazingly Randy’s one of our best fighters. Guess I should’ve warned you about that! My bad!”

“Oh, hey Stan!” Randy turned and waved cheerfully. His dick and nuts swung around with him, too.

“Oh boy, it’s Stan, and Eric!” Butters excitedly called out. “Hiya, fellas!”

“Aw— _awww!_ ” Stan immediately turned his back on them, and pressed a hand over his eyes. He was looking a little green around the gills. Craig _almost_ felt bad for him.

“Didn’t know your dad had such a big dick, Stan,” laughed Kenny.

“ _Dude!_ ”

“So, lemme explain real quick before I do my _thang._ ” Eric brought the three of them closer into a huddle, and his voice had immediately faded into a harsh whisper. “This is Frot Club. Fighters take turns challenging one another in the ring. Your only weapon is your dick. First one to jizz loses. Told ya it was real manly shit.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Kenny’s voice carried an interesting mixture of awe and disgust. “You actually get into sword fights with your penis, Cartman?”

“Well, no, not _me,_ ” Eric replied. “I’m the M.C. so I don’t have to frot.”

“Bet it’s because your dick’s too small and all that lard gets in the way.”

“Fuck you, Craig!” Eric shouted, just as another cheer rang out. “Just for that, you’re going first!”

“No I’m not.”

“Oh,” and Eric’s face suddenly darkened with a wicked sort of glee, “you sure the fuck are, brah.”

“Do we get the option of fighting inside a girl’s mouth?” inquired Kenny.

“There aren’t any chicks here, _Kinny!_ This is _dude_ stuff, totally hardcore underground shit! I told you that earlier!”

“ _Oh!_ Aw, fuck!” A manly grunt pierced the air, and Craig glanced over just in time to see the white stuff go spurting from Amazingly Randy’s cock. Stan made the mistake of looking over, too. He promptly threw up all over himself.

“Yeah!” Butters threw his hands up in the air and sounded another raucous cheer. Then he went over to Randy, who was on his knees panting for breath, and offered a hand. Randy clasped it warmly and Butters helped him up, then tucked his flaccid penis back into his pants and zipped him up. “There ya go, buddy.”

“I can’t do this,” Stan whimpered. Kenny shushed him and gently wiped his mouth. “I gotta go. I can’t do this.”

“And there you have it!” Eric yelled into the microphone as he ran out into the middle of the ring. “The winner, Professor Chaos!”

“Huh.” Kenny scratched his head. “But he’s not wearing the costume or anything.”

“Let’s hear it for the _Amaaaazingly Randy,_ too!” Eric clapped for them along with everyone else as they returned to the audience. “Great job, sir, great job, you’re _such_ a good sport. To the rest of you, and _especially_ to our _newcomers—_ ” Eric winked at the three newbies and everyone turned and stared at them for a few seconds, eyed them up and down, some even dropped their gazes to their crotches and murmured an approval, “—welcome to Frot Club! Now, we all know the first rule, don’t we? _You do not talk about Frot Club!_ ” Everyone shouted that final sentence at once.

“Ugh,” groaned Craig.

“The second rule: you **_do_** **_not_** _talk about Frot Club!_ ” Eric laughed with mirth when the audience recited it along with him again. “Third rule of Frot Club: someone’s dick goes limp, jizzes, _or_ he cries like a little bitch, the frot is over. Fourth rule: only _two_ guys to a frot! Fifth rule: _one_ frot at a time, _mah_ dudes! Sixth rule: Dicks out, no hands below the waist, we don’t wanna see any of that gay shit. Seventh rule: frots will go on as long as they have to! And the eighth, and _final_ rule…” His gaze zeroed in on Craig, specifically.

“If this is your first night at Frot Club, you _have_ to frot.”

Another whoop ran out among those who were gathered. Several men clapped Craig on the shoulder in a chummy manner.

There was absolutely no way he was escaping this.

“Get on up here, pal!” Eric beckoned to him. Craig just stared at him, feet glued to the floor. He didn’t want to be a pussy and act scared, but he did _not_ want to take part in this weird crap. He wasn’t an exhibitionist. Whipping his dick out in the middle of a sausage fest was not his idea of a good time, even if he _was_ a homosexual.

“ _Craig,_ ” Eric hissed, like he was trying to side-whisper him, but it was right into the fucking microphone so of course everyone heard it. “Come on, don’t be a pussy, get up here you fag.”

As Craig resignedly made his way toward the ring, a few people _boo_ ’d and someone actually flung a cigarette butt over his head. Great, just great. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to prove himself and the audience already fucking hated him. Story of his life.

“ _That’s a homophobic slur!_ ” one guy yelled.

“ _Shame! Shame! Shame!_ ” another joined in.

Oh. They were _boo_ ing at Eric. He should have known.

“Heh heh,” Eric laughed nervously. “Come on, guys, I know he’s not _really_ a Harley driver! I would _never_ call any friend of _mine_ a pejorative! That’s, that’s just not _like_ me!” The haterade died down and Craig was there, in the fucking ring, and they were behind the fence, some of them with their fingers slipping through the metal links. He chewed his lip and stared straight ahead, looking through everyone and seeing no one.

“This is my buddy Craig,” and Eric laid an arm across his shoulders. Craig moved away from him. “We go _way_ back, don’t we, Craig?”

“No.”

“I don’t think they can hear you, my good man!” Eric held the microphone up to his mouth. Craig stared at him blankly for a moment.

“ _No,_ ” he repeated, with exactly the same amount of zeal.

“It’s Craig’s first night, and we all know what that means!” A round of applause and whistles. “Who will be our first challenger?”

“ _I will!_ ” came the shriek that cut through the crowd. Craig felt himself go numb. It—no, it _couldn’t_ be.

Tweek.

It was definitely Tweek, and he was definitely coming for him.

Jesus Christ, Craig barely even _saw_ him—let alone talked to him—since the 11th grade, when he heartlessly cheated on their seven-year relationship with Bridon Gueermo. Tweek’s subsequent nervous breakdown left the rest of the gang with the impression Craig was a giant asshole, so they stopped talking to him. Then Bridon Gueermo had a crisis and realized he was actually straight, so he promptly came out and dumped Craig over the summer. Tweek made an incredible recovery and graduated early, so he wasn’t even around to laugh at Craig’s shitty situation.

And there he was, in nothing but boxing gloves and a pair of silk booty shorts, golden curls swept away from his forehead and off his neck in a cute, messy little bun.

Tweek entered the ring, made a show of silently sizing Craig up. He’d seen Craig’s dick before, of course. Many times. There was something unsettling about being eyed up so blatantly in front of everyone else, though. Tweek’s hard gaze held no warmth for him, no fond familiarity. And why would he? This must have been Craig’s comeuppance.

Craig lowered his eyes, briefly. Tweek was definitely hard and it pushed out the front of his shorts.

“ _Hah!_ ” Tweek’s left eye twitched and he bit into the knot on the back of one of his gloves, did not once break eye contact with Craig as he tugged it open with his teeth and peeled off first one and then the other. The world seemed to drag by in slow motion as they fell to the ground at his feet. Tweek hooked a finger into the waistband of his shorts and pulled it as far away from his body as possible. Craig caught a glimpse of the topside of his erection. Then he let it snap back into place.

Everyone, including Stan and Kenny, whooped and cheered.

“Ready your cocks, gentlemen!” Eric goaded them on. Tweek, who was never ashamed about wearing as little as he could get away with in public, promptly dropped trou and stood there, gloriously naked. He was just as skinny and pale as Craig could remember, and his cock was just as aesthetically pleasing. Craig couldn’t help but size it up anyway. His eyes widened slightly when he did: a pair of tiny silvery beads, and subsequently the little barbell they were attached to, caught the light and glinted just under the head. Right on that place where Tweek especially loved to get licked while he was _given_ head.

Tweek did not give any indication he caught Craig staring, and simply retrieved his boxing gloves to pull them back over his hands. He punched them together a few times and threw out his fists. It was all for show, of course. And the audience loved it.

“Come on,” snarled Tweek, though the beginnings of a wolfish smile curled the corner of his mouth. “What’re you fuckin’ made of, man? _Nghnn,_ show me what you’re made of!”

“You already know what I’m made of,” Craig retorted without really thinking about it. A chorus of _ooooo_ ’s drifted from the audience.

“Do I?” Tweek blatantly stared at Craig’s groin. Craig felt the sudden need to cover himself with his hands, though he didn’t, merely pressed his fingers to the zipper on his jeans and gave pause.

“When did you pierce your dick?”

“Come _on!_ ” someone yelled in the audience. It almost sounded like Clyde Donovan. Craig did not want confirmation on this. “Frot! Frot! _Frot!_ ”

 _Frot! Frot! Frot!_ the audience chanted, over and over. Craig rolled his eyes and pulled the zipper down, reached inside and pulled out his cock. The crowd broke out into another fit of cheers.

“You’re not even hard, man!” Tweek rolled his head back on his neck and hopped a couple of times, firmly planted his feet on the ground in a fighter’s stance. “You know the fucking rules!”

“He didn’t say we had to be hard,” Craig pointed out.

“Yes, he did!” Tweek stalked right up to him, leaned up on his tiptoes and shouted right in Craig’s face. “ _You do!_ ”

_Frot! Frot! Frot! Frot!_

“C’mon, Craig,” Eric verbally nudged him. “If you get performance anxiety you’re automatically disqualified.”

“Christ,” Craig huffed under his breath. He reached down and took himself in hand, started to jerk off, just enough to get himself awakened. To help himself along he let his eyes roam the bony, awkward and yet strangely alluring body of his ex-boyfriend. Did he miss Tweek? This wasn’t one of those reunions to slug him in the chest, remind him what he’d pushed away, deprived himself of. Those were just for the stupid movies. Tweek always _did_ give excellent blowjobs, though. Craig tried not to stare at his mouth too much. He always looked so cute and sweet and positively irresistible whenever Craig looked down to watch his head bob on his cock. What he wouldn’t have given…

“Okay, okay!” Eric laughed. “That’s quite the boner you got going on, Craig my man! Save it for the fight, you know?” Laughter bubbled up through the crowd. Shit. Craig immediately dropped himself. Eric made a show of rolling his eyes. “ _Exes,_ am I right?” More laughter.

“Nice _boner,_ ” Tweek hissed through his teeth, and it really was quiet enough only Craig—at least, he _hoped_ —could hear. He wanted to believe Tweek had to get in some kind of secret jab, just for him.

“Yeah,” Craig answered him anyway, while they circled each other, “it’s had some practice.”

“And… _frot!_ ” called out Eric.

They both lunged for each other at the same time, and Tweek’s puffy gloves mashed into Craig’s hands, who gripped them tight like pillows. It truly hit Craig then, just how far he was out of his element. He had absolutely no clue what the Hell he was doing. Tweek gave him a proper shove—almost _threw_ him, really—and with a strangely barbaric yell he flung himself right after Craig’s body. His gloves pressed tight against Craig’s shoulderblades and he rocked his pelvis forward; their cocks brushed and bobbed together. Craig tensed, and felt an odd tightness in his throat and chest.

“Come on, _Craig,_ ” Tweek snarled at him, his voice scratchy and gruff. It was very obvious he was well beyond his first frot in this place. Craig didn’t know what he possibly could have made of that. “Sh-show me, _nnn,_ show me what you’re made of!”

 _What do I do,_ Craig’s brain nagged at him, and then lost itself in a frantic mental scream, **_what do I do?_** He pushed his hips up against Tweek’s lower body, and had no clue whether it was even putting him on the offensive or the defensive. Tweek gasped softly; apparently he liked it. Craig fought the urge to flash him a triumphant grin as he pressed forward, ground the undersides of their hard dicks together. It felt pretty damn amazing.

“ _Mmm,_ ” went Tweek, eyes narrowed slightly. “ _Nnnh…_ ” That smug air of determination he carried about him came back, and he rocked his ass from side to side. Their cocks knocked around, slapped up against each other as Craig mirrored his motions.

“Got an epic sword fight over here,” Eric remarked with bright amusement. Several members of the gathered audience tittered.

“I’m gonna make you come, man!” Tweek taunted him, snarled through his teeth. It was the best and worst threat Craig had ever received in his life. He straightened himself and squared his shoulders.

“You always were good at that,” Craig fired back. “And yet not good enough.”

“You _prick!_ ” Tweek lunged at him again. His gloved hand pressed tight against the back of Craig’s neck, forced their heads together as he shoved his cock up into Craig’s crotch. It hotly dragged over his balls and Craig tensed with a ragged gasp.

“Are,” and he licked his lips, “are, uh, are hands really not allowed—”

“ _No._ ” Tweek punctuated the word with a hard thrust against him. Craig’s eyes fluttered closed and he found himself bringing a hand up, too, to cup the back of Tweek’s head, fingertips buried into the fluffy mane of his hair. It was a closeness that almost felt intimate, both of their foreheads sweating from where they pressed against one another. “ _Nnnnot_ below the waist!” Tweek rasped out as he rolled his hips in small, precise movements. “And, and I’m only reminding you ‘cause I’ll _make_ you come, you son of a bitch, I’ll— _nnnh—_ you’ll fuckin’ come all over and I’ll _take it_ from you, fuck that disqualification shit!”

Craig was panting at that point, swallowing back the urge to whimper as Tweek ground their aching lengths together. It wasn’t like he held the romantic notion they could have _memorized_ each other somehow; they were just stupid teenage boys when they were together, only been fucking for around a year and a half when Craig dicked him over, but the hot throb of Tweek’s cock up against his left a familiar clench in his stomach and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it, at all. Craig grit his teeth and ground back, let out a growl of his own, pressed his hands to the middle of Tweek’s back just where he couldn’t _lose_ and twisted his hips around.

“ _Nghahh!_ ” Tweek let out a sort of gurgling cry. Craig had managed to get their dicks up so they were rubbing the underbellies together, again, and he noticed with a self-satisfied smirk Tweek had begun to leak precome. It slicked the way and, aw fuck, a tiny thread of it went right on that piercing of his. It was barely anything, should not have mattered so much, but it was enough to disarm him and left an opening for Tweek who immediately caught on to his weak point. “Good, _mmh,_ good try! But I’m a fucking champion, you, you _won’t_ win this, you bastard!”

“Yes I will— _ohh!_ ” His heated protest was choked off when Tweek’s frenum rubbed up against the head of his cock, managed to catch the piercing on his piss-slit. Craig’s pelvis gave a sharp jolt.

“Feels good, huh! Yeah, I know it does!” Tweek’s hot breath was against his throat, and then he arched against him again, grinding ruthlessly. Their heavy, full balls even swung up against each other a few times and it was so primal and gross Craig had to clamp down just to head himself off from _that._ His thighs were shaking, knees knocking. “Look at that!” laughed Tweek. “ _Nnnn,_ you’re, you’re so close man, just give it over! C’mon, you wanna come, I know you want to!”

“Stop,” Craig hissed, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut. “Stop—quit _saying_ shit.”

“ _Talking_ isn’t against the rules!” There was a triumphant note there. “I’ll say whatever I want, ‘cuz I remember, kinda, what you liked to hear! I mean, it was _so_ long ago and I’ve pretty much forgotten your dumb jerk face, but, but I _had to_ when you fuckin’ walked in. I just _had to!_ ”

A thick lump gathered in Craig’s throat, closed it off. He swallowed hard. “Shut up, Tweek,” he said, rather lamely.

“No, _you_ shut up! You’re the nasty little bitch here, Craig, and—and you,” he gave a breathless, cruel little laugh, “bet you wish you were on your knees right now, getting my cum all over your face! You used to beg, you begged for it even when you _fucked_ me! And you fucked me good all the time ‘cuz you were a _good boy,_ and you’ll be a good boy right now!”

“Holy shit, dude,” Stan murmured from beside Kenny. Kenny, who was already horny from watching all this, looked down at Stan’s crotch to see if he was hard. Stan caught him looking and shot him a glower, pressed a hand between his thighs, but Kenny caught the way he quickly lowered his eyes like he was embarrassed. Precious, adorable Stanley. Kenny patted him on the shoulder.

Craig tried to pull his hips back, tried to _stop_ the mindless rutting he was rapidly falling into. Scorching little flickers of pleasure caught him every time he moved his cock, like flames, and Tweek was humping him without mercy. That little goddamn piercing, he kept feeling it against him and it was driving him absolutely batshit. He _had_ to stop thinking about it, about how he might be able to press his tongue against it and feel the tiny silver bar under the thin, hypersensitive skin. He _had_ to.

“C’mon, Craig,” Tweek continued to coax him. “ _Nnn,_ aren’t you tired of holding back? Don’t you wanna come? I know it feels good, I know you’ve been waiting for me to go first, ‘cuz you’re such a good boy!”

“ _Sss_ —” He tried to say, _stop_ but it died on his lips.

“That’s my little cumslut,” Tweek growled right into his fucking ear. Craig tensed up so hard he could just _snap,_ and he bit into his bottom lip. “ _Ngh,_ if, _ah,_ if there weren’t so many _people_ right now I’d just push you down and climb on top of you, take that big dick right back in like it never left! Or maybe, _maybe_ I’ll even push you up against the fence and slide my hard cock right into you, I know how much you love getting fucked in that tight little ass! You ready to be mine again, boy?”

Craig gripped at him tight, strained, and let out a sharp cry as all that pent-up, white-hot energy burst through him and gushed out onto Tweek’s inner thigh. Maybe, came the wild, grasping, _irrational_ thought: maybe, they wouldn’t see, he could just pass it off as something else, like he was just _really close_ and—

“He’s, he’s _coming!_ ” Tweek tossed his head back and called out. “ _He came!_ ” The crowd cheered and whooped and shouted something about _Albert, Albert, Albert_ that Craig didn’t understand as he collapsed onto his hands and knees, struggled to breathe.

Fuck.

“Dude that guy is _hardcore,_ ” Stan mused, eyes wide and bright. “What’d he even say to him?” Kenny shrugged and shook his head.

“No fucking clue, but it must’ve been hot. He’s not the only one who can dirty talk his way to victory, though.” Kenny watched as Tweek took off his gloves, pulled his shorts back on and then walked over to Craig after hamming it up for the praise, and reached out to him.

Craig, however, was not even going to touch him. He was humiliated, could not meet _anyone’s_ gaze, let alone Tweek’s. He felt so naked and exposed, and he wasn’t even the one who’d gone in with all his clothes off.

“C’mon, Craig!” Tweek coaxed him, and finally, there was the friendly warmth Craig remembered. It stabbed him in the chest like a fucking ice pick. “You did great! It’s your first time, don’t worry, you’ll get better!”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Craig snapped, and turned away from the offered hand, zipped up and clambered to his feet. He stumbled out of the ring and through the crowd that suddenly felt like a growing mob, and everyone was holding out their hands for chummy high-fives, but he ignored them. He ignored them, because he was leaving, and he was _never_ coming back to this place or talking to _any_ of these assholes ever again.

Ever.

Kenny watched the door swing shut behind him. “Well, damn,” he said with a whistle. “Poor guy. He’ll be alright.” Tweek had been watching his retreat the whole time, even after being handed a towel, which he used to wipe first his face and then the jizz on his leg. Only when Craig had finally made his exit did Kenny notice the change in his posture like a light switch, and he turned and shook Eric’s hand.

“ _Next!_ ” Tweek called out with a laugh.

“And he’s ready for Round 2, folks!” Eric called out. “Do we have another challenger? C’mon, you guys, don’t be _pussies!_ ”

“Me!” Kenny jumped up and waved his hands. “Me, me!” This prompted another wave of _ooooh_ ’s.

“And another newbie to get decimated!” Eric laughed. “Come on up!”

“Kenny, what the fuck!” But Kenny ignored Stan as he made his way up there. Someone stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Be careful, buddy,” said Randy—The Amazingly Randy. “Heard he dopes. Possibly even boofs that shit. Yeah, you just be careful.”

“Thanks, Mr. Marsh.” Kenny made his way into the ring and held out his hand in greeting. “‘Sup, Tweeky. Long time no see.”

“Yeah! _Hnn,_ same to you, man! How’s it going?”

“Not too bad, but uh, you know that’s _technically_ not a Prince Albert, right?”

This brought a laugh out of Tweek. “Yeah, I know! There’s a story behind that! Maybe I’ll tell you sometime!”

“Looking forward to it.” Kenny stepped back, cracked his knuckles, eyed Tweek up and down a couple of times and smiled with approval. He always was a cutie. A bit too damaged and high-strung for Kenny’s tastes, but he’d wondered if that guy was a little demon in the sack. The crazies always were. Kenny reached down and unzipped, then paused.

“Want me to get naked too? Even the odds?”

“ _Ah!_ I mean, if you want to!” Tweek tugged down his shorts for the second time and nudged them aside with his toe. His Johnson stood at the ready, like a proud soldier. Kenny chuckled and pulled off first his jacket, then his shirt.

“And he’s _getting naked,_ folks!” crowed Eric. The crowd cheered. Kenny gave a wink and threw his t-shirt into the audience. The jeans he tossed aside. He, like Tweek, was not wearing any underwear.

“Wow!” Tweek’s eyes widened when he saw the full, hard girth of Kenny’s meat. Kenny grinned. It was even bigger than Craig’s.

“Great performance earlier,” he said. “Sure gave me a boner that won’t quit. You like what you see?”

“ _Ngh!_ I mean, it’s _all right!_ ” Tweek teased back, but he was smiling, cheeks lightly flushed from his earlier battle. A few errant, wispy curls framed his face.

“Ready your cocks,” Eric prompted. “And… _frot!_ ”

It was Tweek who launched himself first. Kenny was ready for him; he hadn’t _only_ enjoyed the display in front of him, after all. He was taking mental notes on the guy’s technique, too. Kenny licked his lips when it came at him: Tweek’s weapon, having sustained itself for quite some time, surely toed at the edge only for the tide to pull back, was solid and proud but it also looked a bit angry, the poor fellow. His cock was flushed a rosy red, the head swollen and shining, balls dark and heavy. Kenny actually felt sorry for him, the kind of sorry where a pal would take it into his mouth and gently nurse, feed on him until he relieved those balls down his throat, because Kenny was a good friend. Even to those he wasn’t very familiar with. Hell, he was even a good friend to some strangers, too.

Tweek’s sword thrust out at Kenny, but he was ready for him with a parry. With a swivel of his hips he knocked Tweek’s dick away before it even had a chance to get between his thighs. Kenny smirked.

“You’re dealing with a trained cock-fighter, my friend,” he said. Tweek blinked his wide, doe-like eyes at him.

“But I’ve never seen you here before! I thought it was your first night!”

“Oh, it is.” Kenny grinned. “That don’t mean I haven’t got my own experience under my belt. I do love sparrin’ with a good dick, after all.”

“Jesus!” Tweek came at him again, though; he was a fighter, that one. Kenny was certain they’d both met their match. The crowd hollered and cheered as they grappled at one another, hands on shoulders, biceps, and their mighty lengths clashed like swords.

“Is it true?” Kenny asked after about ten minutes of thrusts, parries, the occasional jab that hit its mark. He heaved in a great breath and stared Tweek down with a steely eye. Tweek was shining with sweat, panting fiercely like a dog, but he didn’t show any signs of tiring. He stood back a few paces, hand braced to his chest.

“Is—is _what_ true?”

“What I heard.” Kenny drew up near again, close enough his dick rubbed up against Tweek’s inner thigh. It left a little smear of wet behind. Tweek wasn’t the only one dripping with need, but Kenny was determined to hold his ground as long as he possibly could. It would be a long battle, that much was certain, and he was fucking _geared_ for it. “That you,” and he lowered his voice so no one else could catch what he said, leaned in to whisper hotly in Tweek’s ear. His lips ghosted against his earlobe, and Kenny thought he saw his opponent shiver. “That you stick meth in your ass.”

“ _What?!”_ yelped Tweek. Kenny took that brief opening and threw his weight against him, ground up against his pelvis, and a low moan reverberated through Tweek’s chest when their cocks collided. Tweek jerked his hips back and Kenny felt his mouth water, just a little, at how he caught sight of the sticky precome that threaded between them. He couldn’t even tell whose was whose anymore.

“So it’s not true?” Kenny grinned. Tweek didn’t give him a definitive answer either way, just gave a warrior’s shout and barreled into him. Kenny sort of looped an arm around him and braced himself with a hand flat against his shoulderblade. Tweek’s skin was hot all over, he could smell the sweat of him _and_ his arousal, and even with Tweek’s fair features it was very animalistic and raw and heady, and _manly_ as fuck. Kenny kind of wished they weren’t clashing in front of an audience. He didn’t know which he craved more: to fuck Tweek in the ass, or to take him in his. After all, the little bastard clearly had a lot of staying power.

“It’s _not!_ ” Tweek finally growled at him, when they were finally chest-to-chest, falling into erratic bursts of feverishly rutting against each other and twisting away, forcing it back, refusing to succumb to the pleasure that awaited just beyond. Kenny wiggled his tongue at him. Tweek’s pretty little face knit into a scowl and he rocked forward sharply. “It’s, _nnh,_ s’not, how can you— _ngh, ah!_ Is that what they’re saying about me?!”

“Yeah,” Kenny said. Tweek bared his teeth. It was more adorable than it was menacing. “You didn’t even, I dunno, pop a Viagra before the show or something?”

“ _Haah!_ No!” In a sudden unprecedented burst of strength, Tweek threw himself forward, and Kenny’s back hit the fence behind him. The spectators drawn close gasped in mingled surprise and delight. They were really dancing on the edge now, for any wiggling fingers of bystanders, and the careful tense energy woven tight between them was sure to snap. Tweek braced an arm against the fence behind Kenny, and the chain links rustled and rang out as he bucked hard against him, over and over and over. _Oh,_ the friction was fucking delicious. Kenny even dared to spread his thighs, just a little, to let them come together again. He smirked when he felt the head of his own cock bump against the engorged silky purse that was his rival’s poor ballsack. Tweek whimpered aloud.

“What’s your secret, babe?” Kenny asked him, leaned close enough to murmur it to him like a lover. He didn’t even fight to dislodge him.

“I _have_ no secret!” Tweek hissed back. His whole body was trembling. “I just, _nnnh!_ I have a lot, a _lot_ of stamina, you can ask _anyone here!_ ”

“So you’ve taken ‘em all on?” Kenny teased him. “I’m flattered you saved a little for me.”

“ _Agh!_ ” yipped Tweek. “Did you just call me a slut?!”

“Nah.” Kenny’s breaths fell from him in ragged pants. He locked his ankles around Tweek’s shins and thrust forward, let his dick rub up all over Tweek’s taint and balls. It even teased between his asscheeks, and he felt Tweek’s thighs tighten as he let out a noise that fell somewhere in between a sharp cry and a wanton, lustful moan. Kenny felt the answering throb in his balls and he knew he was treading on dangerous territory here. Who knew, perhaps he was even on the verge of getting himself disqualified. “You’re not a slut, we all know this is way, way safer than the nasty alternative. Y’know there were dudes that pushed this stuff back in the day, right?”

“I—” Tweek pressed his face into the crook of Kenny’s neck, briefly, and mewled into his skin. “No?!”

“Yeah, they like, ah fuck.” His thighs were quaking, too, practically dripping with sweat. They were both getting so gross, so filthy, and all Kenny could think about was licking the sticky precome and fragrant sweat from Tweek’s nuts. “‘cause of AIDS, they, heh, they were like, ‘don’t do it in the butt! You’ll get AIDS!’ And tried to claim this was way more intimate and special. I dunno, maybe they’re right. You think they’re right, Tweeky?”

“ _Jesus,_ ” Tweek cried. “Don’t call me that!”

“But it’s so cute,” said Kenny. “So cute, just like you, your little button nose and your sweet little bubble butt. Too bad we gotta stay safe, gotta keep up the— _ahh_ —the frot. _Anal’s_ bad for you, Tweeky. Don’t do _anal._ ”

“ _Nnnnh!_ ” Tweek tensed against him and he shuddered, gloved hands frantically grasping for something to hold onto, to ground himself. “Stop, _nnn,_ just stop, Kenny! _God!_ ”

“What,” chuckled Kenny, “what’d I do? Is it the word ‘anal’? You don’t like it when I say _anal?_ ”

“ _Stooop,_ ” whined Tweek. “ _Aaagh!_ ”

“Yeah, I know you’re not that crazy, Tweeky. I know you wouldn’t dope up your dick. Why would you? I know how much you like anal. Don’t need to worry about maintaining an erection when you’re taking it in the ass.” Kenny smirked, and gave a little snap at the air, like he was going to bite Tweek’s ear—but he didn’t.

“ _Please_ —”

“I know how much of a size queen you are,” Kenny purred, scarcely above a whisper. “I know you love anal, you just _love_ taking cock up that hungry little ass of yours, you saw my dick, right? Yeah, I’m pretty sure you saw it.”

“ _Nnnh_ — _no_ —”

“We should spar after this,” Kenny told him. “You make such a great dance partner. I know you’ll put out, too. You’re the best kind of lay, because you’ll get me all horny and worked up and shit, get my balls nice and full, and then you’ll give it up. We’ll be nice and safe, and then you’ll let me fuck your cute ass doggy-style. We’ll bareback, and we’ll have _anal_ sex.”

Tweek threw his head back and wailed, because that was enough, his pelvis worked hard against Kenny’s in helpless, involuntary little jerks as he finally emptied his balls. Hot come spurted out over Kenny’s dick and splattered onto the ground. Behind them, everyone screamed and howled and really, just basically lost their shit. Kenny flashed the ‘V’ signal, but then Tweek stumbled against him, and he quickly wrapped his arms around him.

“Poor little guy,” he said. “You okay?”

“ _Uhn…_ uh-huh…” Tweek managed to eke out. Kenny gave his back a couple of comforting rubs and after a moment, Tweek finally managed to stand on his own two feet. He ambled across the ring like a newborn gazelle and retrieved his shorts.

“And _now,_ ” Eric belted out after a few moments of cheers and verbal accolades, “that just leaves our final newbie. C’mon up here, _Stan!_ ”

At that point, Kenny had pulled on his pants and made his way back down into the audience. It took him several minutes because everyone wanted to fucking high-five him. Unlike Craig and his sourpuss sore loser bullshit, Kenny slapped them all and beamed proudly. He would have done the same had he lost, but this was even better.

“Kenny,” Stan cried, and clutched at him. “Dude, get me out of here! I’m next and I _can’t!_ I can’t do this!”

“Hey, yes you can,” Kenny assured him. That was exactly why he’d come back around: he planned on bringing Stan up there himself. There was no way Stan would have done it on his own. “Challenge me, dude, it’ll be fine. You got a head start and everything! Look at that!”

“Not while my _dad’s_ here!” Stan grimaced. “ _Sick!_ ”

“Just pretend he isn’t your dad,” said Kenny. “I do that whenever I come home and find a homeless, drunk piece of shit asleep on my couch. That guy is technically my dad, by the way, but I was illustrating a point. Get it?”

“No!”

“Look,” said Kenny. “It’s basically wrestling. You just gotta make the other guy nut. That’s literally all you gotta do.”

“I can’t _nut_ in front of my _dad!_ ” argued Stan.

After a clever trick involving booze, Randy Marsh’s keys and bribing the Chinese guy to lock him outside, Stan and Kenny stood facing each other in the ring roughly seven minutes later. Stan’s dick hung out of his pants, and Kenny kept his on but pulled his own erection out, too, and Stan was clearly still having doubts about this whole thing.

“It’s just me, pal,” said Kenny.

“I know it is,” whined Stan. “That’s the problem. This isn’t gonna like, change our friendship or anything, will it?”

“Stan, my man. You’re straight, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Well then, there you go. Not gonna change a damn thing. And look, I have so much faith in you that after all this is done, I’ll suck your dick for being such a good sport.”

“Dude!”

“I mean it. That’s how much of a pal I am. You win, free blowjob. You lose, free consolation blowjob.” Kenny’s cock gave an interested twitch. This whole thing was really just an elaborate ruse to get Stan’s dick in his mouth in the first place. He couldn’t explain why. He just wanted to suck him off, really badly, perhaps with a mouthful of beer at the same time. “It’s not gay if you’re the one receiving,” Kenny explained.

“Oh,” said Stan. Kenny decided right then and there: not only was he going to bring Stan back next week, but he was going to personally see to it that he and Clyde had a sword fight of their own. The idea of two stubbornly straight men slapping their wieners all over each other was so hot, he almost lost the game right then and there. Kenny was experienced, though, and held onto his nut—mentally.

“Ready?” Kenny asked him, gaze squarely planted on the peek he’d been afforded of the wiry raven hairs that poked out around the base of Stan’s dick.

“Yeah,” said Stan. “Let’s just get this whole thing over with.”

“And… _frot!_ ” called Eric.

Kenny knew Stan was going to be a little bitch about this. He decided to throw him a bone and just stand there for him. “C’mon, Stan!” he encouraged him. “Look, I’m giving you a wide opening here! Just gimme what you got!” He resisted the urge to shake his willy at him. All in due time.

Stan fidgeted for a moment. “ _Come on!_ ” yelled Clyde from the audience, because Kenny knew he’d be into this shit. Stan braced himself, and then he just went running at Kenny like a fucking linebacker.

“Oh, _shit—_ ”

That was the second time he was slammed back against the fence. Could he still smell Tweek’s hot junkie-jizz there? Probably. Kenny pressed his hands against Stan’s shoulders and fixed him with a steely, determined glare.

“Dude,” whined Stan, who promptly turned his face away. “Don’t, like… don’t _look_ at me, come on!”

“Oh.” Kenny rolled his eyes. “Sorry.”

Stan was a fucking pussy. He jizzed in like, thirty seconds, and then burst into tears. Kenny, who was looking forward to the conquest of getting him hard again, tenderly patted him on the back.

“You did good, kid,” he told him. “You did good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Day 20, when that blowjob instigated by the lamest plot device ever will actually happen. Along with something extra.
> 
> Yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	17. Day 17 - Masturbation (Tweek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek enjoys some fun time with his new best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this one's actually a kink meme fill!
> 
> "Can we get some solo Tweek action? Let the boy jack it or fuck himself to his hearts content."
> 
> We sure the fuck can.

It wasn’t a very hot day, quite average really as far as Colorado summers went, but Tweek was sweating under his clothes by the time he got home after finishing his shift. As soon as he walked in through the front door and pushed off his shoes, he immediately headed straight for the bathroom and locked himself in, stripped out of his clothing and left them in a pile by the door. With one arm braced against the countertop, he reached down and felt for the sparkling jewel that lay smack against the center of his ass, pushed his fingertips behind it and seized a careful hold of the steel bar held snug between his cheeks.

“ _Nnh…_ ” He bit his lip, hissed softly through his teeth as he twisted it carefully. The thick base of the chrome bulb nudged up against the inside of his hole, but then his muscles worked against him, pulled it right back inside. A low whine escaped him and he bent himself lower, squeezed his eyes shut and carefully bore down. This time, it popped free of him, the ridges teasing his tenderized nerves on the way out. “Oh, _god,_ ” he gasped, and sighed in relief when the thing was finally free of him, his sore hole winking shut behind it. It was a good sore, though, and he hummed low in his throat when he experimentally brushed his fingers along the softened ring of muscle and very faintly pressed into it. It definitely felt more pliant, more relaxed and ready. Excitement swam in his belly.

The hot water went on full blast until steam rose from the sink, and he washed the toy carefully and wrapped it up in a washcloth to dry. In the shower, he soaped himself up quick and methodical; the shampoo, the soap, they slipped through his quaking hands on more than one occasion. Briefly he considered trying to see how many fingers he could fit up his ass in the shower, but decided against it—it would make the stretch and burn that much more worth it.

He wrapped a towel around himself and picked up everything he’d discarded from his person, poked his head out and peered down the hallway. Even though he knew his parents were both at the shop, he still could not help but feel that rush in his chest, the _just in case_ and _what if_ that plagued him around every corner of his life. It was for that reason Tweek could not wait for his move to university in the upcoming months, and yet at the same time, he was not looking forward to the idea of having to share a bedroom. He would be trading one form of privacy for another. But it was not the time to dwell on that, and he banished the thoughts from his mind as he crossed the corridor and slipped into his bedroom, locked the door behind him.

Sex, when he could find the time, was great. Tweek loved sex. But there was something about _alone time_ he treasured, too, it provided him things sex could not. Complete, unabashed focus entirely on himself and his own pleasure, without any worry or guilt. He did not have to direct and he did not have to provide. He knew everything about his own body and he could go right for the gold if he wanted, or he could draw things out carefully, make it last as long as he wanted. He did not have to be ‘on’ for anybody and he did not have to dredge up any self-control or focus. Even when he wanted to pull himself back from the edge, to make it last, it all came as naturally as breathing. It was practically—no, it _was_ —meditative.

Tweek set the plug aside, laid his towel out over the bed and then knelt down to retrieve the package beneath it. Just the thought of his new friend made his mouth water. He’d taken a peek at it last night, though Tweek knew he wouldn’t have been able to play then. It all merely served to fill him with hungry anticipation of what was to come, and now, the moment of Truth had arrived. He pulled out the box and opened it, to reveal…

Stan.

Tweek couldn’t help grinning to himself as he ran his fingers over the little bumps and ridges of the long, bulbous monster cock he’d been on pins and needles about all week. It was initially just a joke: Kenny had dropped the link in their group chat and made an errant comment about how he didn’t know this side of Stan— _their_ Stan—existed. Stan was not amused. Craig sure as Hell was, and so was Clyde. Tweek played it off like he had better things to worry about, but when he clicked the link and found himself staring at the beautiful beast in a lovely blushing shade of red, fading down into a rich chocolate brown, it was love at first sight. It was so wonderfully detailed, even if he couldn’t figure out what the Hell it _was,_ with ridges and thick strong muscle and veins, for a while he couldn’t stop staring.

_Stan is a thick dildo with defined musculature, detailed veins, a deep curve, and a blunt head. Let him penetrate your fortress and you won't regret it._

And when he did finally tear his eyes away, Tweek found himself lost in clicking around on the site. It laid bare many other strange and incredible pieces of all kinds, and absolutely none of them were _human._ Demons, knotted alpha males, tentacles. _Dragons._ He was hard in his shorts when he finally circled back around to ol’ Stan again and told himself, _the mini’s probably too small, considering it’s called_ **_mini,_ ** _let’s go a size up._

For a split second he’d contemplated telling Kenny after he placed the order. But then Tweek realized: _why?_ What would have been the point, except for Kenny to laugh at him? Kenny, who made it his personal mission to make sure everyone tried new experiences, yet no one could be as experienced or kinky as he. Well, Tweek was going to have something sacred, just for himself.

And if that sacred thing was going to be an otherworldly cock from a website that apparently sold dildos to furry and monster fetishists, so be it.

Tweek sat down on his bed with the thing held in his hands. He was mildly frightened. It only served to make him hornier. His eyes had definitely been larger than his stomach: it looked _so much_ bigger in person. Would his ass even be able to take it? That had been the reason for prepping himself all day, working behind the counter with a plug up inside him, but Tweek’s confidence wilted in the face of actually being confronted with the very beast he’d been building up in his mind all day long.

He was going to do it, though. He was going to take it. He was going to conquer _Stan._

Tweek stretched out across his bed, made sure the towel was under his naked butt, and reached into the nightstand drawer to retrieve the lubricant. Even with how he’d gotten used to being filled all day, he still spread his thighs and slipped a hand down beneath them, traced the rim of his asshole with a fingertip. The muscles relented and it slipped inside, he coaxed himself open further to press in another and rubbed himself like that, with two fingers, stroked along himself on the inside and felt the muscles contract around him. He purposefully clenched around himself and whimpered low in his throat. The position felt a bit awkward and uncomfortable, though, so he pulled his fingers out and turned onto his side. There—much better. Tweek let his eyes slide closed and fell into a nice rhythm of lazily fucking himself open; somewhere in there he managed to work in his ring finger, too, and soon he was pushing his face up against the pillow, panting into it.

Fingering himself was nice, generally made for a lovely addition when he was jerking himself off, or a stalling part of foreplay. But it was an uncontrollable tease, too; Tweek had long knobby fingers but given the angles and limitations, it was virtually impossible to find the depth he wanted. As he massaged himself over and over it only served to remind him of what was to come, how much potential for depth awaited him, depending on how much of the thing he could work inside him. If it didn’t kill him first. Tweek’s gaze rolled toward the beast, toward _Stan_ sitting to the right of him, and he felt himself sweat just a bit more. _It’s all right,_ he told himself. _It just looks worse than it is._ Tweek reached out with his free hand and pulled Stan closer to him. It was really such a lovely colour. He dragged his fingers over the meaty red muscle on the underside, rubbed the pad of his thumb up the seam of its frenum and toyed at the flushed little glans laid in the full center of a much bigger, fuller tip. Almost like it was meant to protect it, if it were part of a real creature made of flesh and blood.

Tweek hesitated, then brought Stan to his mouth. His tongue slipped out and dragged first over the arching, rounded head and then traced around the glans in a neat circle, poked questioningly into its open piss-hole. _What_ **_are_ ** _you,_ he thought again like all the times he had before, in wonder and amazement. His mouth slid over the end of it and held fast, sucked at the tip while he brought his hand down between his legs to rub at his own cock. It grew warmer against his palm, and Tweek sighed around the toy in his mouth as he stroked along the length of himself, curved his palm against the head and ground up against it. His lips stretched wider around Stan as he tried, without grasping, to pull it further into his mouth. He imagined having it thrust right down his throat, nose up against the firm scaly armor between sturdy thighs. Tweek hadn’t gotten far enough out of his element yet to fully realize whatever creature this thing could possibly be attached to in whatever fantasy realm dreamt it into existence. It became something more abstract, a wonder in and of itself. His mind could fill in the gaps another time.

He reached up again to pull the structure out of his mouth, briefly admired the ridged lines and drew the tip of his tongue along a prominent vein near the hilt, sealed it in his hand and stroked tight and firm along the deep curve of it. Then Tweek brought it down to compare it to his own cock. He absently dragged the tip over the side of his own length. He was certainly a _grower_ in his own right—Tweek smiled to himself when he remembered Craig’s reaction to the first time he grew hard in his boyfriend’s hand—but this creature, this _Stan,_ it dwarfed him, humbled him. Tweek felt even more pathetically human against it, somehow, the peachy girth of him no match for the giant, ruddy cudgel that swung out in a muscly curve against it. The slick, pink tip of him rubbed testingly against the bulbous head. Though the model did not include any form of testicles, he had a feeling they would be sizable indeed, heavy full globes that would make his own look like grapes. Tweek lifted his leg so he could run the end of the dildo down against them, nudging over the seam and poking teasingly at his taint. He gasped softly, squeezed around his fingers.

“Okay,” he whispered. “ _Okay._ ” The pressure was building up inside his hole and he needed something more, something _deeper._ He carefully eased out his fingers and let out a quiet moan at the sensation of them pulling out of his ass; the lube was taken up in hand again and he rolled onto his back. “ _Mm!_ ” Somehow, stroking off this big weapon in his hands, rubbing along the wide curve and listening to the slick sound of it against his palm really zeroed in on just how intense this whole thing was really going to be. Tweek’s toes curled in excitement when he imagined it filling him, opening him up, stretching him taut enough to burn and curving expertly toward that tiny ball of nerves, that special place deep inside him.

He grabbed a pillow and draped the towel over it, then rested his butt there, propped it up for easier access. It would be _much_ easier to fuck himself at this angle with a toy than straining with his own hand alone. Tweek spread his knees wide and leaned back, hitched his pelvis up even further as he brought the dildo down there and ran the tip of Stan up under his balls and down into his crack. His hand shook slightly. It was all right to be afraid, he told himself. It would make the sensation that much more worth it, when he took it slow, showed himself just how badly he needed to be opened and _filled._ The round, tapered end of it rubbed up slowly against his asshole and he gave it a light twist, rolled it up in a circle and felt the muscles slacken. They were greedy; _he_ was greedy. He needed this.

God, it was so _thick._ His boyfriend was pretty well-hung, thank goodness for _that,_ but the entire structure of this thing was so different. The head felt like he was trying to push a set of knuckles into himself, a nigh impossible feat. This would not be. He knew it wouldn’t be. Tweek closed his eyes, drew in a few deep breaths, gradually felt himself relax the more he stroked and played with his hole. “Just, _nnngh,_ just this,” he breathed to himself. “Just _this,_ and— _ahh, oh_ —” It almost felt like a spear, the end like a puffy triangle that opened the tight ring of his anus and slipped its way in further. He moved the thing to and fro in slow swivels and twists, grinding it up against the tender muscles and even dripped more lube onto it, really made sure it was nice and slick. The full tip finally popped inside and he closed around it, and moaned, sweat having already beaded on his brow.

“ _Shit,_ ” he gasped out. “Oh, _fuck… nnnnhh…_ ” But it was in, it could only go slimmer from here, just a little, then swelled into a huge flared base at the bottom. Tweek already figured he was not going to take the whole length of it in, not today. That would be something _else_ to work up to in his spare time… but right now, he could just lie there and feel this: the uncomfortable and intense burn throbbed all the way up into his groin, and when he moved the thing inside him just _barely,_ it toyed with all the nerves just inside his entrance at once and made him shudder with delight. After a moment of adjustment he pushed the thing a little further inside him, and thought he could actually _feel_ every strange shape and ridge that surrounded the tip as it moved within his tight channel. Or perhaps it could have been his overactive imagination. Still, Tweek parted his legs a little further and let his head roll to the side, sighing as he flexed and pulled on it, opened himself up— _penetrated_ himself, at precisely the angle he wanted. No compromise. No focus on anything but the desperate, primal urge to just _feel._

He dripped some more lube onto the thing and moved it in little shallow thrusts. The knots of muscle that started an inch or so down, he let them tease against his opening, not ready to take them in just yet… his breath poured out of him in long, ragged exhales as he let what he had taken so far slide in and out, slither up against him, and little shivers climbed up his spine every time the lumps and nodules tickled the fleshy walls. His hips twitched upward and he let it happen, allowed his pelvis to eagerly rock upward in a bid for more warmth, more friction, more _heat_ that could only be generated by the way it seeped in from his flesh and from the deepest, hottest place of himself into the toy. It almost made it real, and if he closed his eyes he could even imagine the throb of his hole was an aching heartbeat that ran through the thing inside him. The thing that slowly took him, pulled him open inch by inch, _mated_ him. Claimed him.

“ _Aah, god…_ ” he moaned and barely found the presence of mind to take more lube on his fingers, hurriedly rub it over those thick ropy muscles, it was time to bring them into him. Maybe this _was_ supposed to be from a dragon. It certainly felt like it was going to burn him up, like he was molten and melting on the inside. A short, sharp cry fell from Tweek’s lips before he grit his teeth, sucked in his breath and put all of his concentration into carefully bearing down, relaxing and opening up further. His voice dissolved into soft, pleading groans as his ass slowly, but surely engulfed more of this strange hunk of imaginary meat and fit itself neatly around the curve. It ached, in that strange way that left him torn between wanting to give up and extract it, free himself—or be imprisoned even further. Even though it was _supposed to be_ all up to him, Tweek was at the mercy of this goddamned thing and that was what thrilled him most of all. He was a slave to his own pleasure. It _wasn’t_ all up to him, after all, not anymore.

“ _Oh, nnnh,_ oh _God…_ ” His eyes fluttered and rolled shut when he gave that first brush of the tip against his prostate, and then just held it there, rolled it against the swollen gland and his whole fucking body just sank deep into the bed, a low moan of bliss rolled from deep in his chest. He’d fucked himself with dildos before, he’d _gotten_ fucked, with a lot of squirming and whines of _there, right there, oh god please_ and even, _don’t you fucking stop, I said_ **_right there_ ** _you fuck,_ but none of it was like this. He circled his hips and felt every tug, every shift, every ridge and every knot as it poked and prodded at him on the inside and dragged along every single fucking nerve, every bit of him that could ever feel was concentrated right _there_ in the center of his body—in his _ass_ —and he laid back and just surrendered himself to it. It was the closest thing he could imagine to a “full bodied” orgasm, only it wasn’t quite an orgasm because it wasn’t _stopping,_ clear fluids rolled in little beads from the tip of his cock and a wonderful tingling ran all the way down to his toes, all the way up into his head, like ASMR but all over him. And it hurt, and it was bliss, and it was way too fucking much at once, and it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, even if he felt it all the way in his very spirit.

Tweek felt the faint twinge of regret he hadn’t opted for the suction cup; it would have been great to stick this thing to the wall and get on his hands and knees before it, rock back and fuck himself against it for the best depth possible… but he wanted, _needed_ more and he would reach out for it anyway, and so he got up on his knees with the thing lewdly jutting out of his ass. He chewed on his bottom lip and clenched around it, felt it twitch against his asshole as he shifted around and tightly gripped it at the bottom. And he rode it, slow at first, wiggled around to find the depth he could take without ripping himself utterly apart—even as his body screamed for it—then the bed started to squeak as he bounced on the mattress, on that huge goddamn alien, dragon, monster _whatever the fuck_ and let it utterly wreck him over and over. At that rate he probably didn’t need any more lube, but Tweek squirted some more on anyway and went to fucking town on his own ass, rocked his hips down against that damn thing and relished in the nasty sounds of it slopping in and out of his open, wet hole. His mouth fell open in a silent scream, but then he found the courage in losing himself again, moaning over and over in time with the thumping and bouncing of the bed, little frenzied curses and half-prayers, _god yeah, oh fuck yes_ ** _please,_** _god_ ** _fuck,_** over and over and over.

He could have done it forever. He _wanted_ to, never wanted this to end, even if it destroyed him. He couldn’t stop aching for _more, more, more_ and shifted around again, forget the lack of balance, he turned over and pressed his face into the pillow with his ass in the air and howled as he reached around behind and gripped the base tight, furiously pounded it into himself. Tweek ended up collapsed on his stomach, twisted slightly in an effort to keep up the momentum, his cock was rock-solid and he feverishly ground up against the mattress. It fucking _hurt_ and the sheets felt so soft and sweet against him, he toed at the line of agony; tears pricked at his eyes and then promptly spilled because he was _alone_ and there was no shame in doing so. No shame in letting go. And his entire body gave a sharp jerk and he rocked helplessly into the mattress, openly crying into the pillows from mingled relief and the heartbreak of knowing it was over, because he was coming harder than he could ever remember in his fucking pathetic life, and Jesus fucking Christ the sheets were a mess. He didn’t stop fucking even when his balls were empty, even when the pain of _need_ became the pain of _too much,_ even when his hands grew weaker and weaker and…

Tweek woke up with a start, gasped and drew in a sharp breath. A glance at the clock told him it was around 10 or so minutes later; he’d fucking passed out with the thing still inside him. His whole body felt warm and he was the most relaxed he could remember in a long while, his skin completely bathed in tranquility and his bones all felt like they weighed absolutely nothing anymore. He exhaled and braced himself, reached back and slowly eased the thing out of him. His ass wasn’t nearly as stubborn this time. It slid free of him and it was so tender his eyes brimmed with fresh tears when it popped out with a little gush of lube. A great tension had been lifted from him. He caught sight of the light on his phone blinking at him, but Tweek just allowed the toy to drop down onto the bed somewhere between his parted calves. The mess of the outside world—to say nothing of the mess he’d made of _himself—_ could wait.

He was one with his fucking mess. He was one with everything, a great exhausted love filled his heart, for himself and his friends and his boyfriend and oh Hell, all of humanity, the animals, living and dead. The energy he’d exerted was now part of the room, the atmosphere, and it washed over him like the bed was grass and he was lying out in the warm sunshine, nothing left to entrap his skin. It enveloped him, embraced him, and he passed out, _again,_ didn’t awaken until sometime in the night when his phone buzzed and there was nothing left but starlight.

Was this his fate? Had he become a fucking furry? Tweek didn’t know. He didn’t care. But one thing was for certain: that wasn’t a masturbatory session, it was a spiritual experience, it was fucking enlightenment and it all came in the form of a big bad dragon dildo.


	18. Day 18 - Xenophilia (Tweek/Craig)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pastor Craig Tucker visits Hell on a special mission from God, but he gets waylaid and ends up having to go through one of Satan's servants instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a brief mention of (past) suicide.

“Look,” Pastor Tucker said with a sigh. He’d been negotiating at the gates like this for—man alive, he couldn’t even keep track of the time anymore. It felt like hours, but when you were beyond the realm of Time, did _hours_ even _exist_ anymore? Maybe that was how these assholes felt they could take up as much of a guy’s energy as they liked in the first place. Maybe that was their mission all along: to bleed him dry, like every other sad sap who had come here. “It’s just a discussion. Nothing else. I’m completely unarmed, see?” He spread out his arms.

The two fat demons at the gate exchanged a look. One of them brought a hand up and casually pinched one of his own nipples. “Sure, okay,” he grunted as he tugged on his manteat, and his useless wings twitched. “Here, I unlocked it, just uh—just pull on it, right here.”

“Okay,” replied the Pastor. He seized the blackened handle in his fingers. It was _hot:_ so hot it actually melted the flesh on his hand, left it bubbling like lava. Pastor Tucker gave a sharp cry and jerked his hand back. Steam rose from his palm as the flesh knit itself back together like nothing ever happened. Both of the guards whistled in appreciation. It had been so _long_ since he felt any actual pain, it had taken him completely by surprise. Even after he healed, he was still left stricken and shaking.

“Interesting,” said the thinner of the two—but not by much—and sucked saliva from his huge gaping fangs that left his mouth hanging open. “So he really is a Man of God.”

“We can’t let him get too deep,” argued the one who was toying with himself. He hadn’t even stopped. “It’d be folly.”

“I dunno. I mean, look at this guy, he’s like… nothing.”

“I let him go there, the Master’ll put my fucking head on a pike! And I’m just not in the mood to be decapitated right now.”

“Excuse me,” Pastor Tucker tried to cut in.

“Whatever,” said the fat guard. “Uh, you can go to like, I dunno. The First, _maybe_ the Second Circle. Anything deeper and you’re not comin’ back. And then we’ll probably have like, angels or some shit trying to retrieve your worthless ass, and it’ll just be this big mess of shit.”

This didn’t sound like it would lead him anywhere good. Certainly not prosperous enough he wouldn’t return to God _empty-handed._ Pastor Tucker closed his eyes and bowed his head. It wasn’t a true prayer, just a summoning of mental strength, but both of the guards went absolutely apeshit.

“ _Hey!_ Cut that shit out!”

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?! You ungrateful little worm!”

“Wow,” said Pastor Tucker. “Sorry, I guess.”

“Just _get in here,_ ” snarled the fat guard as the black gates to Hell swung open.

“Heh,” the other one chimed in. “Maybe we _could_ get him down to the Second Circle.”

“Yeah,” the first one agreed with a smirk. “Sounds like a great idea to me.”

“Look,” Pastor Tucker stated once he’d crossed into the other side. Immediately the smell of brimstone hit his nostrils, and it was so thick and strong he gagged. A wonder something like _that_ could still exist in him, too. “I know what the Circles are. I’m not an idiot.”

“Oh,” said the fat one. “Then you’ll fit right in.” He wiggled his big forked tongue in Pastor Tucker’s general direction, and Tucker drew back. It was mandatory he not show any fear in his eyes. These creatures, they couldn’t just smell fear, they could _sense_ it, radiating off his body in a tremendously delicious aura that left them eagerly reaching for whatever slivers of soul they could digest. Pastor Tucker was no fool, he’d done his homework before arriving here. Even wore his special boots made from mythril and pearl, since they would banish the Hellish heat from reaching his soles.

His escort came in the form of a spectral figure in robes blacker than outer space. Tucker tried to get a glimpse of the creature’s face, but it led him in silence, and Tucker forced his gaze to remain on the ground before him. He felt like he was walking through a volcano. Limbo was the first Circle and he’d heard rumours about becoming trapped there. Since he was humble to the point of insecurity about his place in the Kingdom, he did not want any part of his soul to be tied to Limbo, because he didn’t know if it was a place from where he could ever return. He’d been good in life, and even after life, but what if it turned out not to be enough? What if the next thing he knew, he’d be trapped in Limbo with the others who strayed away from God, even if they held the delusion they were still somehow good people?

He didn’t want to get mixed up in that.

Hot winds blew into his face and instilled a strange warmth in him that prickled his skin and went all the way down into his toes. That was how Pastor Tucker knew he’d entered the Second Circle of Hell. And that was when the spirit who guided him turned its back and flitted away in a swish of night-dark robes. “ _What,_ ” Pastor Tucker gasped out. “Wait—!” But it was already gone. He was left there, in harsh weather that threatened to throw him right to the ground and have its way with him—for lack of a better descriptor—and Pastor Tucker wasn’t sure what the fuck he was supposed to do. Could God even reach him here?

No, that was silly. If anything happened to him, of _course_ God would pull through. Wouldn’t he?

Pastor Tucker groaned lightly and ran his hands over his face. This was a disaster.

The air went still around him, shifted into something sweeter, like incense. Pastor Tucker heard the _clack-clack-clack_ of little hooves and he dropped his hands, lifted his head. Another hooded figure was walking straight in his direction; but this one wore crimson, and it didn’t fly, though a pair of large leathery wings sprouted from the creature’s back.

“The messenger?” It hissed out. Tucker merely nodded. It was too dark inside the being’s robe to see its face, or make out any features apart from the cloven hooves that tread upon the misty ground. “We’ve been waiting for you. Follow me.”

They plodded along in silence. Pastor Tucker couldn’t help but be curious about the little creature before him. It had a rasping voice, but it was shorter than him, smaller in stature and in build. The robes went all the way down to its ankles, but he thought he caught sight of the tapered end of a tail on occasion, poking out between its feet. And the hooves, though they were cloven, had a sort of… _dainty_ quality to them. He craned his neck in an attempt to get a better look, but could not find anything more to suss out, and soon they were marching across a thin platform—so thin they could only walk single file, the creature first followed by him—and Pastor Tucker willed himself not to look over the edge. He feared he might actually test Fate and end up falling clean off if he did. What would happen if Death befell those who did not belong here? Even if they were, by all rights, technically _dead_ anyway? He did not want to ponder on that subject any longer.

They entered a towering structure that resembled a desecrated cathedral, with a tall, twisting spire. It appeared as if it were once forged from bronze but was burnished in a strange ashen colour, and blackened in other places like it had been licked directly by fire, and—was that blood, on the door? Pastor Tucker felt his whole body tense as the creature pushed open the stained iron and led him through. It was dark inside, so unbelievably dark, until the being produced a flame from thin air (but it was Hell, after all, should he have even been shocked?) and Pastor Tucker heard the soft sound of breath. The flame grew so bright he thought it would burn his eyes out, but instead it just lit a huge collection of candles spread over an altar, and the torches set in the walls upon their sconces, and the place came alive. (Alive being the operative word here.)

He could not help but glance around, surveying this space before him. Pillars rose up high and at the top, near the ceiling, sat great gargoyle statues. Their stony, empty gazes were all fixated solely on a point in the center of the hall, and that was when Pastor Tucker looked down at his feet to see a huge elaborate sigil carved in the center of the marble floor. Little markings and symbols lined around its perimeter. Bile rose in his throat, thick and clotting, and he quickly swallowed it down.

“Don’t mind them,” said the creature. Its voice no longer carried that deep, gritty quality, but something lighter, sweeter. At first Pastor Tucker thought it meant the strange symbols on the floor, but then the being went on to say, “they don’t actually have eyes and they aren’t looking.” It seemed like an odd thing to say, so Pastor Tucker firmly refused to suspend his disbelief, but it didn’t matter then anyway because the being was lifting its arms and then a set of bright red, manicured claws poked out from one of the flowing sleeves and turned back its hood. What he saw in its stead was one of the loveliest things he’d ever seen in his life.

This was no hideous, twisted monster of the Underworld. If it weren’t for their current environment, Pastor Tucker _almost_ could have mistaken him for an angel. Tousled golden curls framed a pretty face, with precious round cheeks, full lips, a dimpled chin and the most adorable little button nose. He had captivating eyes, too, green like fresh new leaves with long, dark lashes.

He also looked exactly like this guy Pastor Tucker knew in high school who suddenly and mysteriously died at the beginning of 12th grade. Something twisted deep in his chest. “ _Tweek?_ ” he blurted out, unable to stop himself. The little demon sighed and turned to look him full in the face.

“I thought you looked familiar,” he observed with a tinge of wistfulness. “Craig, wasn’t it?”

“Uh, well, yeah,” Pastor Tucker replied. He’d been 27 when _he_ passed through the Light and God pulled him into his capable hands—or, more accurately, his paws. He let his gaze pass over Tweek’s face again, and noted his lips weren’t just full, they were shining too, almost—glittering. His stomach fluttered and all he could think about was _kissing_ them, which was a really fucked up thing to imagine. The barest hint of a smile graced Tweek’s pretty mouth. Shit, could he read his mind? “I can’t believe it,” he added on, quite lamely.

“What can’t you believe, Craig?” Tweek blinked up at him. Craig noticed then he had horns: adorable little nubs that poked out through his hair. He wanted to touch them.

“Uh,” Craig coughed and ran a hand through his hair. _Shit._ “That—that you’re here. In… the Second Circle of Hell. You were always really… well, you were just so nice. Like, all of the time.”

Tweek shrugged. “Niceness is relative. I fucking hated all of you because none of you bothered to stand up for me. And then you left.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Was this really happening now? Was he really going to start rehashing this shit? “But I did, you’re right. I was a coward. Sorry, Tweek.”

“I don’t care anymore,” Tweek said with another shrug. His wings twitched behind him. “I know it hurt, every day, but it’s like someone else telling me what happened, like they read the book of my life and had to relay it back to me. And then it was over. It’s pretty great here, man.”

“I should have stayed with you.” Craig envied his nonchalance. Because it all came rushing back to him. Was this the price of going to God instead of ending up here? “Did you, uh, are you here because you hated us?”

“No.” Tweek held his gaze. “I’m here because I committed suicide, and because I’m gay.”

“ _Shit,_ ” Craig muttered. This brought a cute little giggle out of Tweek. “I’m gay, and I didn’t go to Hell,” he quickly pointed out.

“That’s because Satan wouldn’t have liked you,” Tweek replied. “You’re too wholesome.”

“I’m not—uh.” Craig didn’t even know how to answer that. He was never _wholesome._ In fact, he was a huge dick in high school. Not just to Tweek, but to pretty much everyone. But he did turn his life around. Perhaps that was what Tweek was referring to. “I never forgot you,” he said quietly.

“This conversation’s getting really boring,” Tweek huffed at him.

“Oh,” replied Craig. “Sorry. So I guess this is God’s way of testing me or something. I was supposed to talk to Satan.”

“Yeah,” and Tweek clicked his tongue, “you’re not getting to Satan. Um, I wouldn’t say this was God’s will either, though, but who am I to question Our Lord and Saviour?” Sarcasm coated his voice. “We’re pretty close. That’s why I’m in charge of the Second Circle. A liaison, if you will.”

“So,” said Craig. “If I want to talk to Satan, I have to go through you.”

“In this case,” Tweek answered him, “yes. I’m the closest you’re getting.” He took a couple steps closer. Craig realized then the sweet, smoky incense smell was coming from _him._ He didn’t want to stop inhaling it. In fact, maybe it would be alright if it was all he ever breathed again. His eyelids fluttered, just barely, and he hoped Tweek wouldn’t catch on, but whatever it was that just raced up his spine—yeah. He was doomed, wasn’t he? He _knew_ he shouldn’t have set foot here.

“Listen—” Craig tried to say, but then stopped short. Tweek was running his claws down the front of his shirt, and casually picked away a couple of the buttons like he was flicking away a ball of lint.

“I will,” Tweek promised him, “after you listen to _me._ ” He leaned in then, and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to Craig’s mouth.

“I don’t think—”

“You’re so handsome,” Tweek whispered, and his voice took on a husky, sultry quality. “Even more handsome than I remember. And we had some good times, didn’t we?” He wound his arms around Craig’s neck and nuzzled into his jaw. His soft hair brushed against Craig’s cheek. Craig closed his eyes. This was wrong, oh, it was so _wrong—_ he was being led down a dark path, the path of temptation, and every other fucking cliche he could think of, and he—he didn’t want to stop. Something should have told him to stop, there should have been _some_ kind of sign. Some kind of protection. But there was nothing. Just the sweet little body against him, impossibly hot. His fingers dug into the robes and twisted.

“Tweek,” he hissed out, feebly, “wait.”

“ _Shh._ ” Tweek touched a scorching finger to his lips. “I won’t hurt you, Craig. At least, not in the ways that are malicious.”

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Pain can be beautiful,” said Tweek. “You know? I know you know, because you used to let me whip you and put things inside you. I haven’t forgotten about our time together.”

“That was—ah, fuck—” Craig tensed up against him; Tweek had successfully plucked his shirt open entirely and caught a nipple between his claws, twisted and rolled and pinched until it was hard and tender. “We were young—”

“We still are,” Tweek teased, “aren’t we?” Craig wasn’t sure what the Hell that was supposed to mean. Tweek lowered his head and kissed along the side of his neck, licked at it, sank his teeth in and _sucked_ until blood prickled at the skin. Was any of this supposed to happen to someone who had crossed over to the other side? How on Earth could Craig still _feel_ all this? He bit back a moan and forced his hips not to shift forward of their own accord. Tweek pulled the shirt back on his shoulders, and it sort of bunched up around his arms. With a lazy drag of his tongue over Craig’s jugular, Tweek murmured, “I’ll rip it off you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Craig retorted without really thinking about it. Tweek laughed at him then, a lovely and sweet sound that should _not_ have come from a being in Hell. Was there a mix-up somewhere? Maybe _he_ was the one destined for Hell, and their souls got swapped around. Tweek’s claws raked across him, slashed right through his shirt, and it fell from Craig’s upper body in ribbons. Tweek was so precise, so skilled, that he didn’t even draw blood from Craig’s skin. Only tickled it—there were the hot pink lines like someone who only dragged their nails over him, teased him, but nothing punctured the skin. Tweek bent his head and kissed every mark he’d left there.

“Oh, Craig,” he sighed. “I remember what you like, so don’t toy with me, unless that’s what you’re going for.”

“I—” Craig swallowed hard. “I wanna see you too. Under these robes.” Tweek lifted his head and smiled at him.

“Say please!”

“Please,” Craig ground out, without any emotion whatsoever. Tweek smirked, gave a little flick of his claws and the entire garment was set aflame. Craig drew back with a sharp gasp, and then reached out for him, for a sudden, mounting and desperate fear had seized him.

Tweek just giggled. The fire was out as quickly as it came. “Don’t worry, Craig,” he said. “I’m perfectly fine.” He was. He also had _nothing_ on under those robes. Craig’s gaze swept first over his bare chest, still as slender and pale as he could remember, with cute little pink nipples—they were pierced. He racked his brain as he tried to remember: did Tweek _have_ pierced nipples before he died? But it ultimately didn’t matter, for they were now, little silver hoops Craig wanted to bite and pull on. His tummy was perfectly flat, and underneath— _shit._ It started under his navel, not the honey-coloured dusting of crisp curls Craig remembered, but _fur:_ thick fur in an interesting, colourful combination of golden, deep brown and rusty-red all blended together. It completely covered his groin, his ass, his legs and sure enough when Craig looked down at the ground his feet were no longer there. Just the hooves, the very same hooves he saw poke out from the skirt of his robe, little black cloven things. His legs were not even of a human shape, but reminiscent of a goat’s.

In fact, if it weren’t for the long, prehensile tail that had coyly wrapped itself around one of those long legs and ended in a distinct spear-like point at the end, along with the big leathery wings on his back, Tweek could have easily been mistaken for a faun—his place within the Circles of Hell notwithstanding. Craig’s gaze darted between Tweek’s legs, too, and he blushed when he caught sight of the soft-looking, velvety balls that hung down along with what appeared to be the furry sheath of a penis. Tweek caught him looking and grinned.

“You like what you see?”

“Why—” Craig coughed lightly. “Why do you have—”

“I didn’t choose this form,” Tweek huffed, and crossed his arms. “I never got to choose how I look. None of us do, mortal or not!”

“Well,” Craig hastily said, “it’s not a _bad_ look on you.”

“Oh,” Tweek replied cheekily, “I know it isn’t. You’re already hard, you nasty boy. What will God think?”

Craig felt his face grow hot. Was it really that obvious? He gave Tweek another onceover. He was ridiculously adorable, _and_ sexy, all in one nice little package. He wanted to take him in his arms and hug him tight, but he also wanted to see him squirm under his touch, wanted to see what he’d look like when _he_ became aroused. A strange and sudden jealousy took hold of Craig’s heart. He didn’t want to think about Tweek getting aroused for anyone else, and that was a very odd way to feel indeed.

“Now you,” said Tweek. When Craig hesitated, he added, “don’t make me burn them off you, too. I don’t think you’re as fire-resistant as I am!”

“Okay,” said Craig, and he kicked off his boots, pulled down his pants and underwear without further ado. The floor of the cathedral felt warm against his feet, like when he was a child and would walk barefoot across the warm sidewalk in summer. The thought strangely pulled at his heartstrings and he could feel himself getting choked up. Tweek seemed to sense this, because he drew near to him again.

“Don’t cry, Craig,” he whispered and pulled him into his arms. “Don’t cry.” Craig didn’t cry; he swallowed back his tears and pressed his face into Tweek’s soft blond hair, instead, and breathed him in. “I wanted this for so long,” Tweek continued, and lightly ran his nails over Craig’s naked back. “I’m so glad we’re finally together again. Aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Craig answered, and he knew in his heart, at least in the heat of the moment, he was answering purely and honestly. Tweek nuzzled against his chest and he felt the horns bump up against him. He cleared his throat and lifted his head, ran his fingers through Tweek’s hair and lightly touched one of the horns as if by mistake. Tweek gasped and tensed against him. “Does it hurt?” he wondered.

“My… horns?” Tweek rasped out. “Um, no.”

“So I can touch them,” Craig wondered aloud. He caught it between two of his fingers; it was hard but had a velvety feel to its surface, like a deer’s antlers. With his fingers he gave it a light rub and Tweek pushed his face into Craig’s neck. A light vibration rolled from his throat and when Craig rubbed it some more, reminiscent of scratching behind a cat’s ear, Tweek clutched at him hard and the buzzing grew louder. “Wow,” Craig remarked. “I didn’t know demons had fuzzy horns. Or that they _purred._ ”

“I’m— _technically,_ I’m not a demon,” Tweek said into his skin. “I’m an imp!”

“Oh,” Craig replied, still rubbing his horns. “That makes sense.” Tweek, though it seemed to come to him with some great difficulty, pushed himself away from Craig’s touch. His lovely face knit into a scowl.

“I’m still more powerful than you’ll _ever_ be!” he snarled. “And I’m going to fuck you, so hard!”

“I’d like to see you try,” said Craig. Tweek scoffed.

“You’re pathetic,” he told him. “You’re _so, so_ pathetic! And you’re all mine, you know that, right?” He slithered up close again, nipped at Craig’s ear and then ran his tongue along the shell of it, before he pushed his hand down between their bodies to skim across Craig’s navel and further down between his thighs. All of the air in Craig’s lungs left him in a rush. Tweek seemed to know _exactly_ how to touch him: his nails dragged hotly across a hipbone and down the meat of one inner thigh, before his fingers wrapped tight around Craig’s dick and toyed around with it. He squeezed and stroked him at the hilt, then let his fingertips flit over the sensitive head, rubbed underneath it and dragged his thumb up and down the underside until clear precum welled at the tip. Tweek sank down and flicked his tongue over it, tasted him, and Craig sighed and buried his hands in Tweek’s hair.

“You have a _very_ nice cock,” Tweek told him. “Maybe if you’re good enough and let me fuck you in the ass, I’ll let you have mine, too.” Heat filled Craig’s lower belly and rushed all the way down. Tweek giggled at him. “Oh, you twitched when I said that!” he informed him, and gave the head a brief suckling kiss, drank from him. “ _Nnn,_ you taste so sweet. I’m gonna have so much fun with you!”

“You can feel pleasure?” Craig wondered aloud, which he knew was a bit silly, because he’d just pet the little imp a moment ago and he was purring and quivering in his arms.

“It’s all I can feel,” Tweek cooed up at him. “It’s all I can _think_ about. Why do you think I’m here, right _here,_ in the Second Circle, the Circle of Lust?” He hopped to his feet with a little _tap-tap_ of his hooves and with a mischievous grin, tugged Craig over to the altar. He grabbed Craig by the hand and pressed it to one of his thighs. Craig buried his fingers in the fur; it was soft, soft enough anyway, but had a certain coarseness to it too: further illustrating its likeness to a goat. Nowhere near as soft, fluffy and perfect as the mane of curls atop Tweek’s head. Craig stroked and pet him anyway, let his fingers stray to the crux of Tweek’s thighs. It all felt like second nature, the oddness of the situation didn’t even occur to him. This was a living, breathing and warm sentient being who had captured his heart just like the boy he knew in high school, his first love, who he subsequently broke and lost forever. No—not forever, not anymore. Craig watched as Tweek gnawed delicately at his lip, the way it flushed an even deeper red, so full and pretty and tempting. He leaned in and kissed him passionately. His other hand roamed around to Tweek’s ass, felt how shapely and round and cute it was even if it was coated with fur. Tweek giggled against his mouth and wound his tail around Craig’s wrist.

“You feel so good,” he purred at him. “Your touch, it’s so, so perfect. Keep going, I want to fuck you so bad, keep _going._ ”

Craig moaned a little at that. He was so beautiful, so—so sweet, so adorable, so undeniably _sexy._ “I want you too,” he gasped out, and pressed a few kisses along Tweek’s temple. “Oh, fuck, I want you…”

“You’ll have me, Craig,” Tweek told him, his voice having dropped again to a husky whisper. “You’ll have me, just get it out, take it out.” It felt nice, felt _good_ to hear his name like this, like it was really _him_ on Tweek’s mind all along and every time he said it, it just cemented his reality here, affirmed his existence not just in his own mind but in Tweek’s, too. _God_ certainly never said his name like this. God was warmth, protection, healing and light but none of that could have possibly compared to this: this closeness, this love that was just as sweet as it was dark. Tweek didn’t belong here. He needed Craig, didn’t he? He needed Craig to save him. Craig would bring him back, take good care of him, give him all the happiness he deserved that he couldn’t get in the cold cruelty of the human world. Craig would take all of his suffering and turn it over, turn it around, give it back to him tenfold in no other form but the pleasure and joy he desired.

He fondled around between Tweek’s thighs, ran his fingers over his heavy balls and then lightly touched his sheath, as if afraid. Of what, he didn’t know. He rubbed and pet at the thick fur there and felt it crawl, kind of like when his own balls tightened up, felt the soft sheath of him grow taut and then something slick and hot bumped up against his fingertips. Craig willed himself to look down and saw it there: the flushed, vivid tip as it eased its way out, a colour that made him think of  _fuchsia,_ the best way to describe it; and it gave way to something much thicker and longer and darker, hues of a deep rose-red. It didn’t look like any animal he could recognize, which was a good thing anyway because this was no animal before him, just a lovely ethereal creature who happened to be trapped in a realm he never should have been sent to in the first place. It looked so _tender,_ like it would hurt to be touched.

“You can lick it if you want,” Tweek coaxed him. Craig nodded and sank down to his knees. He kissed the tip of it and heard the sweet little noise Tweek made. He wanted more of those, as many as he could possibly drink in. Craig parted his lips and ran his tongue all over the tip, then down the length, up and down until he was nosing at the fur around Tweek’s balls. He pressed his lips to them and anointed them with hurried, desperate kisses all over. Tweek mewled and squirmed underneath him just how he wanted, and arched his back, lifted his hips. “Suck on it,” he told Craig, a touch gruffly. Craig immediately did what he was told; he opened his mouth and drew Tweek in. There was an interesting bittersweet taste to him, almost tangy really, like overripe berries. It didn’t seem like there was ever any place for come to ooze out, but the length, all over seemed to exude a natural slickness of its own. Craig’s tongue only painted it further with wet, and then it felt like he was dreaming when he stood up again and looked Tweek straight in the eyes, who caught him with his hands on his face and kissed him again, let their tongues lash together. The wet arousal of him brushed up against Craig’s thigh and he groaned into his lover’s mouth.

He turned then, bent over the altar himself and he heard Tweek’s noise of eager approval behind him. “Oh, you’re so good!” he said. “So good for me, or _bad,_ you can be a bad boy too if you want. You’re my bad boy, huh?” The last part was whispered into Craig’s ear, and he nodded quickly and eagerly lifted his hips, pushed his ass back.

“Fuck me,” he panted. “I _am_ a bad boy.”

“Oh, I know you are,” Tweek said. Craig felt the tip of him against his opening, and then it was inside him, and— _fuck,_ it felt so _different_ from any cock he’d ever experienced, and it fucking _hurt_ but there was something pleasurable about the pain, too. It left his nerve endings all raw and burning. “It hurts a little at first,” Tweek whispered, and comfortingly raked his claws over Craig’s spine. “That’s just, _hnn,_ just think of it as the evil in you. It won’t ever go away, but you get used to it.”

“Okay,” Craig choked out. It really did not hurt anymore, in fact, it was funny he thought it did in the first place. This was where he belonged, after all, and Tweek could literally devour his very soul if he wanted, he’d let him. Tweek was slick and hot and burning inside him, and he filled him so completely Craig thought he would burst apart, but he didn’t, he could take it. He could, and would take all of him. Tweek moved within him until Craig felt those heavy fuzzy balls up against his cheeks, and the fur on Tweek’s thighs against his skin. He grunted and spread his legs wider, rocked back, as if he could somehow pull him in even deeper.

“Oh, _yeah,_ ” Tweek moaned. “That’s, that’s my nasty boy. My big nasty boy. I’m so glad you’re here, baby, _so_ glad. I missed you so much, Craig, you missed me too, right?”

“Yeah,” Craig gasped out. “Yeah, I missed you, I never stopped thinking about you.”

“You didn’t—oh, I know you didn’t,” Tweek whispered. “And none of this, none of _that,_ what happened out there, it wasn’t your fault, you know that. You know that, right?”

Craig nodded fiercely and pressed his cheek against the impossibly-cold stone of the altar beneath him. Tweek rocked in and out of him in long, heady strokes that made his head spin. Every time he pulled back, Craig felt the raw, irrational fear he’d pull out entirely and never take him again, and he pushed back for him every time, didn’t want him to leave.

“So,” Tweek asked him, “how did _you_ go?”

“I—” Craig shuddered beneath him. Tweek comfortingly kissed the nape of his neck. “Shit, I can’t even remember,” Craig confessed. A raw, naked fear welled up in him; he’d been gone for so long he couldn’t even remember the way he’d come _out_ of his humanity, only the things that tied him back _to_ it. Or had that been God’s way of protecting him? By obscuring the Truth, and leaving him to rot in bliss for the rest of eternity? Did he even want God’s brand of bliss, anymore? Because this was certainly finer than any bliss, this was _completion,_ that was the best word he could fit to it. This was completion and he finally, for the first time in his existence, not only in his life but in his whole _existence,_ he felt _complete._ Like this was all meant to happen. Maybe, just maybe, this was what Fate felt like after all. Fate, or God’s will. Were they one in the same?

“Maybe it’s better then.” Tweek was steadily rocking into him. Craig moaned and grabbed at the edges of the altar, clutched at them tightly as Tweek wrapped one of his arms around him and drove up inside. “You don’t need all that pain to dog your steps and drag you down! All you need is, _nnn,_ just this. This, and the kind of pain that’s _nice,_ like how we used to do… you know?”

“Yeah,” gasped Craig. “Yeah, I— _fuck,_ yeah.”

Tweek sank his teeth into his shoulder then. A bright, sharp pain burst through Craig’s skin, immediately followed by the rush of endorphins. He shivered beneath his lover’s form and Tweek licked at the place he’d bitten. “Well,” he purred, “you’re tainted now.”

“Yeah,” Craig panted out again. “I—I guess I am, huh.”

“God will never come for you,” Tweek told him, as he rolled his pelvis in eager little circles. “He never even sent you here in the first place! Only I know the way back out, but why would I let you go, now that we’re finally together again?”

“Oh, fuck.” Craig couldn’t even begin to unravel what Tweek just told him. His head was positively spinning.

“It’ll be okay,” said Tweek. “Think of this as your redemption. Now you’re mine forever, and you don’t have to worry about any of that goody two shoes church crap anymore. You can serve me instead, and I’ll make you feel good—all the time! Doesn’t that sound great?”

“Yeah,” Craig whispered. “I guess it does, yeah.”

“Good,” whispered Tweek, and he reached down between Craig’s thighs. “You always were my favourite.”


	19. Day 19 - Public & Formal Wear (Token/Tweek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek and Token duck out of a mutual friend's wedding for a few frustrating moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who requested I write some of this pair!

It was open bar, but Tweek didn’t feel much like drinking. Still, he stood there among the fringes with a champagne flute held between his fingers, and watched the mingled couples as they moved around in vague circles of something that might have resembled dancing. Not that Tweek would have known anything about it.

“Hey.”

Tweek turned his head slightly, gave a sidelong glance to the man who had come up beside him. It was Token. He had some kind of red wine in his hand and when he caught Tweek’s eye, he smiled and lifted it as if to toast. Toast to what? Was he making fun of him? Well, if he was, Tweek was going to do him one better. He took his champagne glass and knocked the two of them together. Instead of giving him the reaction he’d hoped for—confusion, bewilderment, perhaps even a strange form of pity—Token chuckled instead, and gave a little shake of his head.

“Been a while, man,” he said. “I almost didn’t expect you to show up to this thing.”

“Yeah,” Tweek replied. “Me either.” His gaze traveled to the head of the room, where the pair of grooms sat side by side. Tweek had scarcely been able to get in a word edgewise all evening, so he stopped trying. “I mean, it’s—it’s not like I’m his best friend or anything, right?”

“Well, you know,” Token replied, and made a vague gesture with his free hand. “I still consider Wendy one of my closest friends, but if she ever decided to tie the knot, I don’t think I could do it.”

“Tie the knot with her? Or show up?”

Token gave a dry, but warm laugh at that.

“But, no!” Tweek went on to say. “I get it! I get it.” He exhaled. “I don’t, you know, care. About any of that. He’s happy, so am I! Right? That’s what friends do for one another, right?”

“There’s friends,” Token informed him, “and there’s suckers.”

“I guess.” Tweek drained the rest of his glass. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m not—I’m not trying to be bitter or anything, I’m just, _nnn._ I’m not very good at crowds.”

“I’m not either,” Token replied coolly. “Don’t worry.” Tweek’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No.” Token casually patted his pockets. “In fact, I was considering going out for a smoke. If you want to join me?”

“I don’t— _ah._ ” _Jesus, you idiot,_ Tweek rapidly gave himself a swift and sure mental kick in the ass. “I mean, yes. Sure!”

“You want the first hit?” Token asked him once they’d set foot outside in the accompanying garden. The sun was already on the verge of dipping down out of their field of vision, the sky a rich dark blue mottled with stars. It had been a little cloudy that day. Tweek wondered how many of the stars would even come alive after dark, and a deep dark part of him hoped they’d all be hidden. Craig loved the stars, after all, and for someone who already had everything he could have possibly wanted, did he even really deserve them?

 _I didn’t know you meant this kind of smoke,_ Tweek wanted to say, but holy shit, did he really need it. So he nodded, and took it between his lips when Token held it out on offer. “Thanks!” he told him, after dragging in that first lungful of emotional sustenance.

“You’re welcome. So, how’s life?”

“Well,” Tweek exhaled the word like the smoke that surrounded it. “The business is mine now, I dunno if you heard about that or not.”

“Oh, yeah,” replied Token. “I heard… something along those lines. That you might be pivoting.”

“Yep,” nodded Tweek. “I mean, we’re still a coffeehouse brand, but we’re bringing other products onto our label too. There’s even an espresso stout in the works.”

“Sounds cool. I’m probably gonna be opening my own consulting business.”

“You’d be good at it!”

The small talk drifted back and forth between them, staggered between passes of the joint. Tweek’s head started to get foggy, but in the way that felt like it was stuffed with the sweetest cotton candy, not the frustrating mental blocks he had to stumble his way across and force his way through on a daily basis. Tweek thought briefly about passing his next hit into Token’s mouth but refrained, exhaled it all out of his lungs first. And then he surged forward, pressed their mouths together before the concept of _thinking about it_ first could rob him of the chance. He could smell the faint aroma of cologne on Token’s skin—absolutely _nothing_ like whatever Craig used to wear—and he tasted a bit like the smoke from the weed, and the wine he’d taken earlier. It prompted him to suck softly at Token’s bottom lip, just barely, but then reality came back to him in a surge that nearly bowled him over, and Tweek immediately jerked back.

“ _Shit!_ ” he hissed sharply. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know what—” But Token’s hand was on the back of his neck, warm and strong—when did it get there in the first place?—and then they were kissing again, much less tentatively the second time around. It was Token who brought it deeper, ran his tongue over the seam of Tweek’s lips and gently nudged inside.

“Jesus,” Tweek whispered after a moment, having pulled back with heat risen in his cheeks and a telltale flush that ran down below, “you’re so good, um, at that, at kissing, wow.” Token gave a quiet laugh. “I kinda jumped on you, sorry.”

“That was the kind of thing,” Token pointed out, “that was supposed to show you had nothing to be sorry about.”

“ _Hnnn._ ” Tweek scrubbed his hands over his cheeks. “I know, sorry, _ah,_ I mean. I don’t know. Aren’t you straight?”

Token shrugged. “I try not to limit myself,” he said. “Yeah, I like women, mostly. But I’ve messed around a few times in college. I mean, that’s what it’s for, right?”

“I guess so,” Tweek answered him with a nervous laugh. Token kissed him again, and this time Tweek looped his arms around his neck, pressed up close to him. He exhaled in a pleasured sigh when Token pressed a firm hand to the small of his back, didn’t fight at all when he felt those strong fingers knead into the fabric, effectively tugged it out from where Tweek’s belt kept it imprisoned beneath his trousers. Token’s hands went up under the tail of his jacket, underneath his shirt, too, and stroked over his lower back. “ _Oh,_ ” Tweek panted against his mouth when he felt them on his ass, gripping and squeezing through his slacks. “ _Mmm._ ”

“You’re cute,” Token said against Tweek’s neck, between kisses to the sensitive skin. Tweek had to fight not to shiver against him. Those questing fingers dipped below the waistband, pried right past his belt and squeezed him a second time: this time, through his briefs. “I guess I better be careful if I don’t want to make too much of a mess of you.”

“What if that’s what I want?” Tweek grasped him by the lapels, attempted to ease Token’s jacket off by the shoulders. Token caught his upper arms and then brushed his hands off. Tweek let out a whimper of frustration before they were kissing, again, and those hands were right on his ass again, squeezing and kneading. He whimpered low in his throat and pushed forward, could have sworn he felt the familiar brush of arousal against his hip. But he’d never felt Token before, not like this. He smoothed his hand down the front of Token’s pants.

“Hey,” Token reprimanded him. “Take it easy, okay?” Tweek was caught off-guard, and he dropped his hands, wide-eyed. Token caught them and kissed them by the knuckles.

“Shit,” Tweek whispered hoarsely. “I-I don’t, um. I’m sorry.” Token didn’t assure him of anything but he didn’t stop, either, and Tweek glanced down to watch as his touch roamed expertly over the pearlescent buttons that locked his shirt in place, plucked them open one by one. Tweek’s shirt fell partway open to expose a long strip of skin, held together by the tie at his collar. He reached up _himself_ without once taking his eyes off Token’s face and shifted out of his jacket, let it fall to his elbows, and then he reached to tug the whole thing off. Token undid his tie for him, and as soon as it fell open like the rest of him, Tweek reached up and tugged it away from his body. It slithered out of his collar like a silken serpent and he threw it around the back of Token’s neck with a playful little grin, hauled him close for another kiss.

He hadn’t broken a single button off him, came the lazy, humbled thought as lips and tongues meshed together, and Tweek felt the burn in his cheeks when Token’s hands were on his lower body _again:_ this time, they caught him just under the curve of his ass, against the meat of his upper thighs and he was hauling him up. Tweek gasped sharply and immediately threw his legs around him, caught off-balance, even as Token hoisted him up against the brick planter. Tweek eased himself back so that he was sitting perched on the edge, and he imagined what it might be like to just throw himself across the flower bed on his back and get royally fucked just like that, blooms crushed beneath him. If there were thorns, he would have taken them, but it was just a bunch of useless things, like pansies and violas and lilies. Even so, he felt the brick scratch against the back of his dress-pants, and wondered how rough and abrasive it might have been against his bare ass, what kind of marks it would have left behind.

Perhaps he would have even bled. Was Token, whom he didn’t even realize had anything beyond straight bones in his body up until these recent passing moments, worth bleeding for? Perhaps it was time to find that out—though Token didn’t seem inclined to let him. As soon as Tweek reached to unzip himself, he grabbed him by the wrist.

“Hang on,” he said, and Tweek caught the hitch in his deep, collected voice. So he _was_ doing things to him after all. _Good._ He pushed Tweek’s thighs apart enough so that he could fit in between them, and Tweek made a desperate mewl in the back of his throat, dug his hands up under Token’s jacket to claw at him through the crisp and perfect fabric of his shirt. He _did_ feel him then—he _did,_ because they were pressed flush against each other, and he buried his face in his friend’s(?) neck, kissed him there some more.

“You wanna fuck me, Token?” he breathed out. Token stilled against him, a hand braced against his back.

“Right here?” he asked, but it seemed to be a genuine question: there weren’t any _what the Hell_ ’s or _are you crazy_ ’s underlying his tone. Just the same raw, urgent arousal that Tweek felt, mirrored back to him.

“Sure,” Tweek said, and looked up at him. His vision was clouded and it was nighttime, the sun had finished going down somewhere in between all that, but the outline of his companion stood out among the haze. He could still see his own tie, too, looped around the back of Token’s neck. Tweek reached up and undid the first button, right at his collar, then the second. He slipped his hands inside and ran them over the smooth, flat planes just beneath the hollow of his throat, and traced his thumb over the edge of a clavicle. He was gorgeous, felt like a goddamn statue come to life right then and there. “You’re so hot,” Tweek breathed out, too high to be self-conscious. He pulled Token’s shirt open even further and let his thumb drag across the firm dark pebble of a nipple. “I wanna lick you all over. Is that okay?”

“I mean, yeah,” Token chuckled. “But probably not here.” He stroked some of Tweek’s hair back from his face, where it had fallen out of its topknot, and Tweek turned his head to kiss the bronze pads of his fingers. His tongue darted out over the length of one, and then he drew it in his mouth, nipped softly at the warm tip. Token grinned down at him.

“I don’t have anything,” Tweek said quickly, and pulled him close in a desperate embrace. His hips rocked upwards in an eager bid for some friction between them. “Any— _ahh,_ you know—”

“Then I guess we can’t do it,” Token lamented. Tweek made a tiny growl of frustration and clutched at his upper arms, felt the hard muscle through his shirt sleeves.

“J-just, _nnn._ We can, we can go back to my car, I think I have—” He could scarcely breathe around those words, and they were kissing again, and then his mouth was on Token’s throat, hot and biting. Token pulled his legs more firmly around him and he locked them there, whined up against his dampened skin when he felt the stiff length of him through his trousers. Tweek rocked his hips forward, too, and he almost felt like he was cheating here since he was the one who was sitting. But Token didn’t even feel like he was on the verge of collapsing. They ground slowly against one another, until Tweek couldn’t take it anymore, and he reached forward, unbuttoned Token’s pants before he could stop him and plunged his hand inside.

He could feel his pulse against him, even through the tight fabric of his underwear. Tweek stroked him a couple of times, felt out the shape of him. It was going to feel incredible, filling him, he wanted to stretch his mouth on him first and see how he tasted before taking him up his ass. Tweek mumbled something against Token’s neck, dimly aware of _I wanna suck your cock so bad_ since that was how the words arranged themselves on his smoke-addled brain, anyhow, and Token answered by bucking his hips forward with a breathy grunt of pleased acceptance—at least that’s how Tweek took it, when he poked his thumb inside and circled it around the smooth hot tip—but then—

But then, there was the creak of the door, the cone of yellow artificial light that spilled outward. They were off to the side so it didn’t incriminate them, not right away, but Tweek immediately twisted away and covered his face. Token didn’t even seem fazed by it. He nonchalantly buttoned his shirt and tucked it back inside his pants just before the familiar voice of one of Craig’s ushers stammered through the darkness.

“H-hey, f-fuh-fellas, it’s—it’s tuh-time to, it’s time—time for the speech!”

“I gotcha,” said Token. He patted Tweek on the head and turned on his heel, strode inside like nothing had happened at all. Tweek, who was still sorting through the edges of his high and not at all looking forward to returning to normal civilization—to say nothing of this stupid fucking wedding reception—got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his back, but he made no move to follow. There was another silhouette there, and it was coming toward him. Longer, thinner, and taller. He knew who it was beyond the distortion by the sound of his breathing.

“ _So._ ” Craig’s voice was tight. “This is how you're gonna play it. You reject my offer to be in the wedding party, show up anyway, and then I find you trying to fuck my best man. Where _anyone_ could see you.”

“ _Technically,_ ” Tweek retorted—he wanted to play it cool, but Craig got under his skin _so easily_ —and so instead of calmly snarking back, he growled it through his teeth instead, “he was gonna fuck _me._ ”

“Oh, well excuse me,” Craig scoffed. “The lengths you'll go to. I shouldn’t even be surprised.”

“What's _that_ supposed to mean? ‘The lengths I'll go to’—what does that even _mean?_ ”

“To ruin this for me. To make me jealous. To fuck everything up, because you can’t get over—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Tweek stamped his foot. “Believe it or not, for _once,_ this wasn't about _you—Craig Marsh._ ” He knew it was immature of him, but he put every last ounce of toxic bitter that still lingered in him into spitting out Craig’s new name. “Not everything is about _you!_ ”

“You know what?” Craig spread his hands a little. “You really want to do this, drag more people into your dark web of Crazy, ruin someone else’s life—fine. Go right ahead. But don’t do it to my best friend.” With that, he turned his back on him, and went back inside.

Craig hadn’t _officially_ told him to leave. He wasn’t _officially_ kicked out. But Tweek headed straight for the parking lot anyway, brought his car to life with the telltale _beep_ of his clicker. Once he got inside he briefly contemplated hotboxing the damn thing, right there outside of his ex-boyfriend’s wedding, but instead he just slammed his fist into the dashboard and leaned forward, pressed his face into the steering wheel. His chest ached and a few broken sobs clawed at the inside of his throat before he pushed his hands up against his forehead and tangled his fingers into his hair, tugged at them fiercely and the dam didn’t break—not for _him_ —but there were cracks in it anyway, for certain, and cold angry tears dripped down Tweek’s face.

“Never should’ve,” he gasped out. “ _Never—_ ”

His phone buzzed in his pocket and that tightly-wound knot of regret in him, it told him not to look. Yet the rest of him that practically _screamed_ to be vindicated won out. Whether it was an angry text from Craig, or an apology—whatever it was, at that point, Tweek would have taken whatever what was on offer. Craig was just that pathetic, but so was he.

It was neither, though. Token had sent him an image, and at first Tweek wasn’t sure he wanted to see it, not if it was some ridiculous selfie to show off what kind of world he was missing. What sort of place he’d been delegated to watching from the outside through insurmountable glass, _again._ But instead, it was just his hand, and a cross-section of his pants: Tweek’s tie was woven around his fingers, where it jutted out from his pocket, proudly hidden, proudly revealed. Just for him.

 _Sorry about all that,_ said the accompanying text. _I think this belongs to you._

 _Don’t be,_ Tweek replied. _I wanted it._

 _Me too._ There was a pause, and then another text. _So when should I bring it by? Tuesday, perhaps? Around 7:00pm?_

_OK._

_Wear it for me again,_ came the follow-up response. _It brought out your eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this wasn't too disappointing. I'm intrigued by this pairing now though, and I want to expand on this situation in the near future.
> 
> Yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	20. Day 20 - Hot-Dogging (Stan/Kenny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny helps Stan out after their first night at Frot Club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dumb as shit, bye.
> 
> A little continuity directly after what happened [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138796/chapters/38397428)

Stan, as Kenny had initially predicted, was a giant baby about losing to him. Though at least he needed _some_ credit where it was due: he didn’t throw a pissbaby tantrum and storm out the way Craig had.

Then again, Craig also didn’t cry like a little bitch. Kenny briefly considered the merits of getting _them_ to fight against one another. Who would lose, and who would be the biggest sore loser? A little grin crossed his face at the very thought. The chub returned between his thighs, too.

“What are you laughing at?” pouted Stan.

“Just thought about you and Craig sparring for next time.”

“Dude, shut up.” Stan turned his attention back to the road. “Besides, Craig like, ran away or something. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Oh, he’ll be back,” Kenny replied with a gleam in his eye. “Now that he knows Tweek is there? He’ll be back. He’ll make a fucking comeback, my friend, and his dick’ll be stronger than ever.”

“Oof.” Stan rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Kenny.”

“So yeah,” Kenny said once they were tucked away in their shared dorm room. “We’ll get some practice in you. Work you up. Build up that uh, stamina. Still want me to suck your dick? ‘Cuz I’m raring to go.”

“Well, yeah.” Stan scratched his arm and averted his gaze. “I guess.” He was clearly shy about the whole thing. Kenny chuckled and got down on his knees, opened his jeans. “I’m like…” Stan trailed off. “Well, I still like girls, you know? This is just the, uh.”

“The college experience.” Stan was flaccid when Kenny took him out. He shut his eyes and ran his tongue over the length of him, from tip to balls. “Yeah,” he added once that had been completed. “I get it, bro. No worries. No strings! It’s just a bro job.”

“A bro job,” Stan repeated. A dumb little grin spread over his face when Kenny licked at him a second time and then wrapped his fingers around the hilt of him, gave him a couple of slow jacks for his trouble. “Yeah.”

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” Kenny suggested. And Stan did—on _Kenny’s_ bed, since it was closest to where they were. Ah well. That cot of his had long since been defiled anyway, so what would a little extra swamp ass from his hairy, not-gay roommate hurt? Kenny dipped his hand inside and felt all around Stan’s floppy nutsack and his wiry pubes as he slowly grew hard against his mouth. He was halfway there when Stan pulled his hips back.

“I dunno,” he said. “I mean, it’s nice and all, but I keep thinking about how fast I like… well, y’know.”

“Nutted?”

“Uh, yeah.” Stan reached down for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off without even being prompted to do so. Kenny let his gaze sweep appreciatively over his upper body. Definitely not as flabby and hairy as his dad’s, but his inability to keep from his own vices left Stan a little soft around the edges. “What’re you laughing at?” Stan asked him, a touch of self-consciousness having seeped into his voice. Kenny realized then he must have been smirking. He ducked his head again.

“Nuthin’,” he told him, and reached up with one hand to tweak one of Stan’s nipples. Stan gave a rather girlish yelp in response. Kenny _did_ crack up then, a loud snort that ricocheted all the way down his throat. Kinda like the way he wished Stan’s come would. The way things were going, though, he wasn’t sure if Stan had the confidence to even get hard again, let alone reach his finishing point. What a shame that was.

“Dude shut up I’m like, really sensitive there,” Stan said hastily. His dick twitched in Kenny’s hand. It was a mild success.

“You don’t say.”

“Shut up,” Stan kicked at him, and pouted. “I’ll kick your ass.”

“Like you did in the ring?” Kenny patted his thigh reassuringly. Stan huffed and pulled back from him.

“I should, I dunno. I gotta build up my stamina, you’re right. Maybe I should try jerking off and see how long I can last.”

“Or we could practice,” Kenny said. “Right here and now. Look, you already came once, just a couple hours ago. So that should up your staying power right there.”

“I dunno, dude,” said Stan. “I’d feel weird grinding against your dick if we’re not in the ring. It’s kinda… well, gay.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Kenny remarked with a roll of the eyes. He refrained from pointing out to Stan that actually, despite what he’d initially said, it was probably just as gay to let your guy friend suck you off, too. Even though that had been Kenny’s angle all along in getting some free cock for tonight: that it wouldn’t change anything.

Since, well, _technically,_ it wouldn’t.

But Stan wanted to dig his heels in and play Tom Cruise a little bit more. Fine. Kenny wasn’t offended. He just thought Stan was a giant idiot. He wiped his mouth and sat up. “What the Hell, dude,” Stan whined. Kenny threw up his hands.

“You wanna get blown, or you wanna try something else?”

“Uh,” and Stan got that dull look in his eyes. The look he normally got when he was clearly trying to think about something. “I guess we can try something else. But I don’t think our dicks should touch again, dude.”

“I got it!” Kenny said suddenly, with a snap of his fingers. “Holy shit. Why didn’t I think of this before? We should hot-dog.”

“What the fuck is hot-dogging?”

“You’ve never hot-dogged?” Kenny stared at him like he’d grown two heads. Even though—well, okay, Kenny had never done it either until he _heard_ about it, and then it was just to be funny. Until Bebe got all pissed off at him and said that if he didn’t start appreciating her ass for what it was, right away, she’d just get dressed and leave. It was pretty hot at the time, though. His dick, sliding all up between her thicc buns. Bebe was the kind of chick who would give him anal on occasion, so maybe hot dogging wasn’t necessary with her. But he loved it anyway. And somehow, that mental image shifted into his cock rubbing up between Stan’s furry butt cheeks instead. Boy, how would that feel?

“No, what the fuck is hot-dogging.”

“I could do it to you.” Kenny was already getting a boner from this. Or, more accurately, the one that had only sort of tamed itself was coming fully to life again. Jesus, his balls really fucking hurt. Two men had gotten off that night because of him and he was still left unsatisfied. Fucking pillow princesses. He snickered to himself at his own lame, unspoken joke.

“I dunno…” Stan still sounded skeptical. Kenny promptly stood up and took off his pants. His big ol’ woody, jutting out of his boxers, did most of the talking for him. Stan cringed like it was some kind of afterthought, but then he was staring at it like he couldn’t believe such a big, great dick existed in real life. Kenny’s tongue darted between his lips. “Okay,” Stan said, and was that a flush developing on his cheeks? The little rascal. “So I guess your dick is the hot dog.”

“Uh-huh.” Kenny wiggled his eyebrows at him.

“And the buns are—” That was when the gears seemed to click together in Stan’s poor little head. “ _Dude!_ Sick!”

“How the Hell is that _sick?_ ” Kenny bust up laughing. “It’s like anal but without actually going in. It’ll be _awesome._ ”

“No!” Stan protested. “I wanna do it to you.”

“Whoa,” replied Kenny. “Really?”

Stan had clapped both of his hands over his mouth. He looked stricken. Slowly, he lowered them. He was an even bigger idiot than Clyde, Kenny decided. Now _that_ was a closeted sandwich he could eagerly get between. He had no idea how it would even work, but his brain conjured up mental pictures of squeezing his ‘hot dog’ between both sets of buns _at the same time._ Perfect. “It’s just for science,” Stan insisted, and then he seemed to realize how dumb that sounded. “For, uh. For the—”

“For the workout,” Kenny offered. “You’re just training your balls to last longer. It’s less gay than the real thing, because they don’t even have to touch _my_ balls.”

“Yeah!” Stan agreed. “Okay. So, uh… how do we do this?”

“Easy,” replied Kenny. He yanked down his boxers and climbed onto the bed on all fours. He could _feel_ Stan’s eyes boring into him from behind, and he grinned, stretched himself out and put his head down on his folded arms. His ass stuck up in the air. Kenny wasn’t as proud of the physical attributes of his ass, not as much as he was of his dick, which swung long and hard and proud between his crouched thighs. His asshole was pretty amazing, he’d been told, but that wasn’t on the bill for tonight. His buns were kind of lame, all flat and bony. Judging by the erection Stan was sporting, though, Kenny figured he wasn’t going to mind.

“So I just—like…”

“Yeah,” Kenny summed up for him, and shimmied his ass backwards until it was grinding on Stan’s crotch.

“Whoa,” said Stan.

“Yep.” Kenny grinned to himself. “Just take it out and go to town, my friend.” _And if you do an ‘oopsie’, I ain’t gonna hold it against ya._ He pushed his face into the pillow and snorted.

“What?” There was a rustling from behind him, and a _fwump!_ as Stan tossed his pants onto the floor. “This is so weird,” Stan pointed out, even as he braced a hand against Kenny’s back, and Kenny felt him sort of butt up against his… well, his butt. He had to fight the urge not to wiggle back against it, or do something even gayer, like back _onto_ it. Was he willing to destroy his own ass for the sake of getting a little dick tonight? Possibly. But Stan was also his friend, and really dead set on pretending he was a 100% bonafide Straight White Male, so Kenny wasn’t about to push those boundaries and risk destroying what they had together.

Not _too_ much, anyway.

“You’re doing great so far,” Kenny encouraged him. “Now get your dick up in there. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

“That’s a really, really weird mental image, dude.” After a bit of maneuvering, Stan’s cock fit snug up against Kenny’s crack. Kenny promptly flexed his muscles and playfully squeezed it between his cheeks. “What the Hell?” laughed Stan.

“Yeah,” Kenny groaned. “Now we’re talking. Grind up against it like there’s no tomorrow, c’mon.”

“This is so weird,” Stan said, yet again. Kenny squirmed his ass back and sort of ground it against him, swiveled it back and forth. He felt a rush of proud triumph when Stan let out a sigh that was _very_ obviously borne of pleasure.

“Is it gonna be even weirder if I jerk off?” asked Kenny. He was polite like that, a real fucking gentleman.

“Yeah,” replied Stan, “probably.” He started working himself up against Kenny’s body, though, his breaths coming out in little staccato beats and Kenny felt like he was rock-fucking-solid just from the sensation of that hard dick pressed snug against the length of his ass. It even bumped up against his hole a couple of times, though if Stan noticed, he gave no indication. Kenny reached down anyway and tugged at his own balls.

“Just think of it as a challenge,” he told him. A couple of quick, jerking little thrusts against his backside told Kenny that Stan was nodding in agreement. Or maybe that was just his own justification for what he did, but there was no protest, either, when he took himself in hand and gave a few quick tugs. In fact, Stan just grunted from behind him.

“Shit,” he gasped out.

“You’re not coming _already,_ are you?” Kenny threw back over a shoulder, amazed.

“No!” Stan sounded like he was protesting the very idea more than actually mounting any kind of defense against his own state, though. Which meant Kenny was right on the nose with his observation. But he managed to stave himself off, as a hand came up and gripped Kenny’s shoulder tightly, flexed and squeezed in time with what Kenny figured were the workings of his internal muscles, too.

Kenny brought his hand up and licked at his palm before dipping it back down between his legs. “Does it look like a hot dog?” he asked him. “Y’see why it’s called that now?”

“N-not, uh, I guess, yeah. I guess.” Stan was huffing and puffing like he was dealing with some kind of great struggle within himself. It was really fucking hot, but also kind of a bore, because Kenny _really_ would have liked him to put all that crisis shit aside and just fuck him. Alas, it was not to be—not tonight.

“Clyde says he’s not gay either,” Kenny felt the need to tell him anyway, for some reason, as he jerked himself off. Stan didn’t even seem to mind. What a pal. “I got him to dick me down. Isn’t that funny?”

“Huh?” Stan sounded rather distracted. Kenny couldn’t help but smile at that. There was something endearing about the way he knew he looked, even if he couldn’t actually see it: Stan humping away between his butt-cheeks, his eyes tightly shut, lips parted with the short but heavy breaths that shot rapid-fire between them. Maybe his face was even pink, from exertion _and_ a deep-set humiliation at being put in such a compromising position and enjoying it, too.

He thought again about Clyde. Sweet, stupid, unassuming Clyde. Clyde who was still engaging in the ‘I’m not gay’ song and dance even _after_ fucking Kenny up the ass. In fact, there was no _after._ They still met in secret sometimes. And it was fun, but it was starting to become a drag, too. Kenny’s interest was rekindled anew when he thought of Stan and Clyde sword-fighting in a circle of equally sweaty, sexually repressed men. Who would come first? Who would _cry_ first? Oh, fuck—now _that_ was a sight to get off to: Stan and Clyde jizzing all over each other, with tears running down their pathetic faces, neither of them able to look one another in the eye. In his fantasy, though he knew the reality was more strict— _two men to a frot,_ after all—he would be in the center, both of them jizzing all over his face and slapping it with their shameful, absolutely-not-gay-at-all erections at the same time, with such bravado that they might knock against each other a few times in the process, too. Maybe he could even finagle a way to get their balls to touch. Wouldn’t that be a fucking dream come true!

“ _Oh—_ ah, shit!” Kenny groaned, didn’t even try to hide it, as he finally succumbed to one well-earned orgasm. That was enough to set Stan off. He made a piss-poor attempt at masking his own noises and failed, grunting and whimpering as he shot off straight down Kenny’s crack. It was slick and sticky and disgusting and positively _divine._ Kenny sighed and let his entire body fall flat onto the bed. A shame that he had to be deprived of the sensation of Stan’s cock against him once more, but it was worth it.

Boy, had that certainly been worth it.

“Look at that,” Kenny observed after a couple of moments had drifted by in silence. “You won. See, you’re learning already.”

“What were you saying about Clyde?” Stan asked him, in a small voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already want Kinktober to be over and done with just so I can write more of this garbage AU.


	21. Day 21 - Bukkake (Everyone/Kenny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny holds a little contest. The prize is his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come Hell or high water, I will finish this fucking thing.

“Gonna be interesting,” Kenny remarked, as he let his gaze pass over the array of faces that floated around him. It was like he was the fucking sun, and they were the planets. “At the end of the day, we’re all gonna know what each other’s ‘o’-faces look like. Ain’t that something?”

Tweek and Craig exchanged a look. “I don’t know if I’m ready for anyone else to know that about me, man!” His voice sounded like he was trying to whisper to him, but Kenny could hear it, and so he knew everyone else could too. Craig pecked his boyfriend on the cheek and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Me either, babe,” he replied. “When you’re gonna come, you can put your face here if you want.” He gestured toward his shoulder.

“Aw, come on!” Kenny protested. “Don’t do _that!_ Take one for the team, Tweek, c’mon!”

“This is so stupid,” muttered Kyle. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Because Kenny made a bet with Cartman and we can’t let Cartman win, dude,” Stan answered him, providing the proper exposition necessary for this event to happen in the first place.

“It was a fucking sweet bet, dude,” said Kenny, and he folded his arms behind his head, stretching out his naked torso. They were standing in a perfect arrangement: Stan, Kyle, Eric and Butters on one side, with Jimmy, Token, Clyde and Creek on the other. (Tweek and Craig didn’t exist outside of each other anymore, so they counted as a single fused unit.) He stared up at them blankly and they all kind of awkwardly looked at each other. Thank god for locker room conversations, or they might have been too embarrassed to get naked in front of one another.

“Ugh,” Craig grunted in annoyance and spat in his hand before reaching down to take his dick in his hand. “Let’s just get it over with.” He started to stroke his cock, and Tweek followed him, then Butters, then—at that point, they all started flickering to life at once so quickly Kenny couldn’t even keep track anymore. It was like lights on a Christmas tree. His tongue darted across his lips and he felt his own erection rise up proud and tall with the realization that every male in his twisted social circle was really and truly going to jerk off all over him.

Kenny was the only one who didn’t masturbate, however, though it pained him to do so. He had to concentrate on what was going on. Those were the terms of the bet. He observed everyone else’s prick instead. Kenny didn’t delude himself into thinking he possessed the conventional method of judging penises by magically calculating and memorizing their width, girth and yah in his head; but damn, these were some interesting visuals. For example, Butters had the pinkest balls he’d ever seen in his life, and Craig was the only one out of them who was uncut; though while he’d expected a full, springy bush of hair, Craig was completely clean-shaven except for a stupid landing strip like he was some kind of twink porn star. Kenny wondered if his butthole was hairy or if he’d rid himself of all that, too.

Clyde was a fucking monster and Kenny watched in amazement as he drew his fist on that cock while his lopsided, wrinkly ballsack flopped around with its single testicle inside. “ _Staaap,_ ” whined Clyde, because another dude staring at his junk threatened his very fragile sense of masculinity. Kenny looked at Stan next. It was completely average. Almost _perfect,_ like the bowl of porridge Goldilocks sucked down before flopping down into the child’s bed and declaring that all of it was _just right._

“Dude,” Stan said with a furrowed brow.

“Can someone say something?” Tweek’s wavering voice cut through the awkward silence.

“I just did,” Stan replied.

“C’mon, Stan,” Kenny encouraged him. “Go for the gold, gimme your porridge.”

“ _What?_ ” shrieked Tweek, eyes growing wide as saucers.

“Just ignore him,” Kyle said with a roll of his eyes. “He always says dumb crap like that.”

“You guys are really ruining the mood here,” Token remarked. Kenny watched him lightly squeeze his length and felt his mouth water. He had probably the most attractive cock out of any of them. Watching his palm grind up against the firm ridge along the underside of his dick, Kenny imagined what it would be like to run his tongue against it, maybe even slurp all over those nice dark balls.

“ _Engh,_ ” went Cartman. “You guys—” All the fat in his face was crinkled up, turning pink and he was huffing and puffing and grimacing with the desperate effort of holding back. Only the unremarkable mushroom head was visible at the end of his fist. The rest of his pud was buried, and his big Buddha belly jiggled with every movement. So did his titty, in fact. Kenny briefly pondered voicing his concern that it would be cheating to watch Eric the whole time, because the sight would certainly stop any man dead in his tracks and turn him into a shrinking violet, but it seemed like everyone was so intent on not looking at one another that this was a moot point.

“ _Craig!_ ” Tweek’s cry cut through the damp air. He jerked away from Craig with a fierce glare. Naturally, everyone’s eyes turned to Craig—even Kenny’s. He had that guilty, desperately-innocent look on his face like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Although in this case, it looked like the cookie jar was Tweek’s ass.

“I wasn’t gonna put them in—”

“You can’t touch me! That’s _cheating!_ ”

Kenny licked his lips. Tweek was cute when he was angry, and he was looking forward to watching them throw down. They may have been a disgusting couple whom everyone else resented, but at least their fights were entertaining.

Eric made a sickly noise, like he was sort of heaving, and then Kenny felt the first of many telltale strings that would drizzle onto his skin. He hadn’t been looking forward to getting Cartman’s dick-butter on him, but at least it was over and done with, and they could proceed onto greater things.

“Cartman’s first,” Kenny remarked, “predictably. Who’s next?” He grinned and poked his tongue out between his teeth.

“Not me!” Stan gasped out, red in the face. He grunted immediately afterwards. It was him. Because Stan was decently attractive, this set off a domino effect: Kyle came next, then Clyde—Clyde! Straight ol’ Clyde, and then Token, then Jimmy.

“You guys are coming too fast,” Kenny complained. “I wanted to take in everyone’s ‘o’-face.”

Tweek’s eyes went wide again when Craig, though he strained and grit his teeth, spilled out all over his hand and then some choice drops splattered onto Kenny’s side. Craig wouldn’t look Tweek in the eye as he leaned forward and wiped his sticky hand off on Kenny’s ribcage.

“That’s the spirit, ol’ pal!”

“Shut up,” grumbled Craig, and he crossed his arms and turned away. “Just shut up.”

“ _Gyaaah!_ ” Tweek had the look of a fierce warrior in his eye. It was just him and Butters left—and Tweek was certainly not going down without a fight. Even with his face sparkling with sweat, bright pink and straining, nostrils flaring like a bull’s, he wasn’t about to give up. He jerked hard on himself and sank his teeth into his lip.

“I’m gonna win!” Butters called out happily.

“N- _no!_ ” cried Tweek. “No you _won’t!_ ”

“C’mon, guys!” Kenny cheered and clapped his hands. “Let’s go! Fuck, I don’t even know which of you I should root for. Cover me in your jizz! Cartman’s already dried up on me, are you really gonna make me deal with this shit?”

“Yes!” Tweek growled out through tightly-grit teeth. “Deal with it! _Nngh!_ ” But he couldn’t hold back for long: all of the air he’d been holding back in his lungs came out in a great moan, and he whined and bucked into his hand, pearly-white gobs lashing out all over Kenny’s chest. It was a pretty impressive trajectory. Kenny thought about next time, perhaps they’d all stand in a line together and see who could fire the furthest, and his dick twitched in excitement.

“Oh, boy.” Butters’ entire face lit up with his sunny smile. “It looks like I’m the last man standing, fellas!”

“Ain’t that nice,” Kenny remarked as he looked down at the mess of cum that coated his torso, sticky puddles of various consistencies dribbling down his ribs and smeared on his chest. “Now you don’t have to get grounded.”

Still covered in everyone’s half-crusted jizz, he promptly turned himself over to present Butters’ prize, who happily fucked him while everyone else watched. Well, except Creek went off to get cleaned up and probably fuck in the shower, and Clyde was sobbing in shame, and Kyle was angrily putting his clothes back on, and Token was making a great show of looking at his watch, and Jimmy made some stupid joke as he reached for his crutches, and Stan mentioned something about having to feed the dog.

It was a nice audience of one, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing 9 people jerking off at once is surprisingly frustrating and boring. I'm never doing this again.


End file.
